


more than a drop in the sea

by Fyrelass



Series: you're the star i'll find [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Matchmaking, Minor Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyrelass/pseuds/Fyrelass
Summary: Elliott has spent a year in the Valley already -- a year of frustration, crumbled pages, and desolate hours spent staring at the crashing ocean waves. The advent of the new year brings changes and a fresh chance, and he's determined to take it with both hands.He didn’t anticipate the appearance of a new farmer would turn his world and life alike upside down. Over the course of the new year as the seasons change, so too does their relationship -- one smile, one conversation, one chance encounter at a time.
Relationships: Elliott/Female Player (Stardew Valley), Elliott/Player (Stardew Valley)
Series: you're the star i'll find [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1819192
Comments: 47
Kudos: 244





	1. Spring

“Gus!”

Elliott pushed the doors to the Stardrop Saloon open with gusto, allowing them to swing wide. He made sure not to let them slam behind him, though; it was no good if he got kicked out before he could have dinner. “A glass of wine, please, and what’s the special today?”

“Crispy Bass, for 300 gold,” Gus called back.

“A plate of that, then, please.”

“Of course. Have a seat, we’ll have it out to you in a bit.”

Elliott took his usual seat at a table to the side of the room, observing the townsfolk as they began to filter in. It was a Friday evening, so most of the town spent their evenings dancing, drinking, and socializing at the Saloon. While Elliott himself wasn’t the biggest fan of socializing, even an introverted soul such as himself needed to interact with people sometimes. Today happened to be his one day of the month to do so.

“Elliott!”

He looked up as Leah entered and waved. His glass of wine arrived at just that moment and he raised it high to her in a toast. “Ditto what he’s got for me, please,” Leah called, sliding into the seat across from him. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while.”

“It has!” Elliott gave a rather melodramatic sigh. “Alas, not much has changed since then. I fear my writing comes in drips and drops instead of a flowing river stream.”

“That’s a shame.”

They spent the next half hour catching up over dinner. It was only when Elliott sat back, beginning to wonder at how expensive his dinner had truly been, that Leah perked up. “Oh! Have you heard there’s a new farmer in town?”

“There is?” Elliott quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do tell.”

“Yeah, she’s the granddaughter of old Wilson Sherman. She’s about your age, I think – I met her briefly when she swung by to say hello. She’s very polite. Gave me some mushrooms she foraged herself.” Leah slouched in her chair, patting her stomach in a rather satisfied manner. “You haven’t met her yet?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Elliott thought back to the occasional knocks at the door he’d been hearing. “… though I fear it’s not for lack of her trying.”

“Oh, Elliott,” Leah said with an amused smile and sigh. “Still ridiculously imperceptive as always.” She swirled her wine in her glass, looking into it with a contemplative gaze. Try as he may, Elliott couldn’t discern what was behind her eyes. “You should try to meet her. I think you’d like her.”

“What, trying to set me up now?” he asked her, a touch teasing.

But Leah just lifted her wine glass to him, a mysterious smile on her lips. “To the new year,” she told him, and together they toasted.

* * *

“Excuse me?”

So caught up in his thoughts, Elliott didn’t hear the voice for a moment. He stared into the river blankly, trying to let the water clear his mind and inspire him. So far, however, no luck.

Someone cleared their throat softly. “Excuse me, sir?”

He startled and straightened, turning to see who was speaking to him, and stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman standing before him was about as tall as Leah – just a little shorter than himself – with gentle curves and a warm smile. Her eyes were a mesmerizing blue that almost appeared purple in the right slant of light. Her hair was likely ash blonde, but shone gold under the spring sun. She wore a light blue-and-orange plaid button up with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and a pair of overalls that only reached mid-thigh.

She was a vision to behold in the sunlight. Elliott was momentarily stunned.

“Are you Elliott?” the woman asked, and he shook himself from his stupor.

“Yes, I am. And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” he asked, with his best charming smile.

“I’m Katrionel,” the woman said, extending her hand to him. “Katrionel Sherman. I just moved into the old farm west of town – oh!”

Elliott bowed over her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Katrionel,” he told her with a smile, looking up – and freezing again.

She looked startled, lips slightly parted as a soft blush warmed her cheeks to a pale pink. “Please,” she said, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing it. “Call me Kat.”

“But Katrionel is such a lovely name,” he said. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“My mother had quite the imagination,” she said wryly. “Um – oh, I meant to give you this-”

She dug in her pack and offered him a pomegranate. “A little bird told me that you might enjoy this,” she said, a teasing glitter in her beautiful eyes. Speechless, he accepted her gift, turned it over in his hands. “Well, unfortunately, I have to get back to work. Farming waits for no woman. It was nice to meet you, Elliott.”

“Indeed – it was lovely to finally meet you,” he said, and bowed a little to her again. Her cheeks flushed pink once more and she bobbed an awkward little curtsey, before turning and making her way back towards town.

Elliott watched her go, and knew he was absolutely a lost cause for the beautiful new farmer.

* * *

Leah took one look at him and somehow knew immediately.

“Oh, man,” she said, laughter glittering in her eyes. “You’re so gone for her, aren’t you?”

Elliott scrubbed a hand over his face. “How did you know?”

“Because this is the least put-together I’ve ever seen you.” She dropped down into the spare chair he kept for the rare visit from company and kicked her feet up on the table. “Hair unbrushed, still in your pajamas – you’ve got it bad for the new farmer, don’t you?”

Elliott gestured wordlessly, waving his hands in the air. “Her eyes!” he finally managed to get out. “I’ve never seen anything like them! They’re stunning – like, like the purple royalty might wear, or – or the sea at sunset!”

He spun in his seat to see Leah regarding him with something like pity. “Even I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said. “Head over heels. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Elliott slumped in his seat. “She was so sweet,” he groaned. “She gave me a  _ pomegranate _ . You know those are my favor… ite…”

Slowly, he turned to look at Leah. She herself was looking anywhere but at him.

“Leah?”

“Yes?” She was trying to sound innocent. He could hear it in her voice.

“Did you happen to tell the farmer I very much like pomegranates?”

Leah shrugged, still trying to maintain an innocent appearance. “It may have slipped out when we were talking…”

“ _ Leah _ .” He sank further into his seat. “Are you trying to set me up?”

“Of course not!” She was very clearly faking the cheer he heard. “Y’know what, I’ve got to go check on a painting of mine, see how it’s drying, I’ll see you later-”

She stood up, just as someone knocked at the door. “Yes?” Elliott called, not bothering to hide the weariness he felt.

Leah peered out the window and brightened. “Buck up, you’ll like this visitor,” she told him, and pulled open the door before he could say anything.

“Oh, Leah! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

Elliott knew that sweet voice, even after only meeting her once. He bolted upright, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste. A desperate glance around his little cabin wasn’t promising – it was a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, sand on the floor that he’d tracked in from the beach, dishes in the sink in his tiny kitchen that needed to be washed, to say  _ nothing _ of his current state of being-

“Yeah, I was just swinging by to visit Elliott, but I won’t keep you. Have a nice visit!” Leah, the traitor, waved to him as she walked out the front door and vanished into the sunlight.

Elliott swallowed, then steeled himself. He approached the still-open door and gave Katrionel a weak smile. “Hello, Miss Katrionel. I hope your endeavors up at the farm are going well?”

“Yes, they are, actually,” she said, with such a beaming, bright smile it took his breath away momentarily. Thankfully, he didn’t have to speak; she continued talking. “I’m finally starting to get crops in – it’s very exciting, actually picking the produce you’ve grown! I’m finally making enough of a profit to make it worthwhile, too, which I frankly didn’t expect would happen for several more seasons.”

“That’s wonderful,” he told her with a smile. Oddly, she blushed, looking away for a moment. “I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid my cabin is quite a mess.”

“Oh, no, I completely understand.” She smiled, digging into her bag as Elliott fought to keep his own expression level. “Here – I just wanted to give you this. Fresh vegetables, from my first harvest!”

She looked so genuinely excited as she offered him a small basket of parsnips, green beans, and potatoes. “Truly?” he asked, a little startled as his hands hovered over the basket.

“Of course!” She beamed at him again. “What’s the point of being a local farmer if I can’t share the fruits of my labor with everyone?”

He hesitantly accepted, grasping the handles on either side of the woven basket. His hands brushed hers as she let go; they were more callused than he expected, dirt in the grooves of her fingers. She looked down for a moment, chewing on her lip as what he thought was a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Heaven help him, she was beautiful.

“Thank you,” he said, and hoped beyond hope he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “I… sincerely appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Katrionel tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Well! I, ah, I’ve got to go, but I hope I’ll see you around?”

“I’m sure you will.” Elliott gave her a warm smile. “I’m often here at the beach or on the bridge into town, so if you ever need to find me, look there first.”

“I will,” she promised, and he tried not to think of why, exactly, his heart soared at the words.

* * *

Elliott tried to throw himself into his work, but it felt like at every turn, something was pulling his attention away. Perhaps “something” wasn’t quite the correct term, though; more like “someone”.

Katrionel Sherman was everywhere in town all at once. Even when not physically present, the gossip he’d grown somewhat accustomed to revolved around her – how her farm was doing, her latest endeavors, the quests she’d done for various townsfolk. She’d started going into the mines, was the conversation topic one day; another it was her latest harvest had come in and she had put the down payment on a chicken coop from Robin.

That was to say nothing of her actual appearances. If Elliott didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn she was seeking him out every day on the bridge into town proper. After a while he started to look forward to it, standing at the bridge’s railing and hearing a clear, sweet voice call his name from further north. Most times she was a little out of breath, half running to stand beside him and drape herself over the rail until he was concerned she might just go over the edge and into the river.

“You’re a writer, right?” she asked him one day, leaning on her elbows to see over the railing better.

“Yes,” he replied slowly, unsure if he’d ever told her that.

“Oh, Emily mentioned something last time I was at the Saloon – said something about how you’re a budding author.” Katrionel glanced at him with a smile, pushing stray strands of blonde hair out of her face. He tried not to think about how the sight made his heart thump against his ribs. “What do you write?”

Elliott sighed. “Garbage, of late. It seems I can’t find words to put on paper.”

She hissed through her teeth. “Writer’s block? That sucks. I remember getting that in college – usually when I had a paper due, though. Never wrote anything original.”

“You went to college?” Here was something new.

She nodded. “Graduated with a degree in general business. It’s very little use out here, but it got me a decent enough job in the city.” She made a face that said she disagreed with her own words.

“I see.” He thought he did, at least. “Well, Miss Katrionel-” and she made the same face she always did when he called her by her full name- “if you were to write a novel, what would you write about?”

Katrionel considered the question, chewing on her lip as she stared out over the water. “Fantasy,” she finally decided. “I’ve always loved tales of adventurers and magic and dragons. I’m no writer, but if I did write a novel, that would be my genre of choice.” She snuck a glance at him out of the corner of her eye; they were more purple today. He chalked that up to the blue river flowing past them. “You know, I did a little editing for the business magazine my college put out quarterly. If you ever need an editor, just let me know. I might be willing to do some work for you pro bono, in exchange for reading it first.”

Elliott hoped he didn’t look as stunned as he felt. “That would be… wonderful, should I ever approach a point where an editor is necessary,” he told her. “Thank you for volunteering.”

She smiled and straightened, stretching both hands high over her head. “Of course! Now, I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to run and see if I can catch Marnie at work – I want to talk to her about buying some chickens sometime soon. My chicken coop is almost done!” She looked so genuinely thrilled as she left that all Elliott could do was smile and wave as he watched her go.

* * *

The Flower Dance approached and arrived before Elliott knew it; it was only his second dance in the valley, but he was rather looking forward to it. An excuse to dress his nicest and enjoy some good food and companionship – those were the kinds of social events he most enjoyed.

As an eligible bachelor, of course, he would be expected to join the Flower Dance itself, but his partner last year had been Leah and she’d made it easy enough. As he straightened the pale blue button up and checked the matching blue slacks, he idly wondered if the farmer would attend as well.

He quickly put that thought from his mind, however. She was likely so busy with her farm she’d have no time at all to attend the dance.

Elliott left his beach house and walked north into town, joining a river of townsfolk that walked through the Cindersap Forest to reach the clearing they held the Flower Dance in. Leah joined him partway there, dressed in her white shirtdress she’d worn the year before. “Ready to do some dancing?” she asked, a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Yes, as much as I can be.” Elliott brushed some invisible lint off his shirt. “You know I’m not a fantastic dancer.”

“You’ll do just fine,” she reassured him. “Enjoy yourself! It’s only once a year, you know!”

Before he could remind her that yes, indeed, he did know, she patted his arm and waved, moving up through the throng to walk with Haley. She was the one who’d made Leah’s dress, if he remembered correctly, and appeared to be checking it to see how it’d held up over the last year.

The clearing was just as he remembered it – tubs of flowers ringing a wide, spacious clearing in the center for the dance proper. A few tables, laden with food, sat near the entrance. Pierre took up his position behind his stall and beamed at the townsfolk flooding in.

Elliott made his way to the river again, standing at the edge as he tucked his hands into his pant pockets. Truth be told, he was rather uncomfortable with the crowd of people, but this was a once-a-year event, and he was loath to miss it.

Leah rejoined him after a while, and they talked quietly of everything under the sun. Leah had heard from her ex rather recently, and was still a little shaken over the encounter. Elliott’s writer’s block wasn’t getting any better. It was a relief to exchange his worries with someone who wouldn’t mind, and who in turn shared her own with him.

Then Leah glanced over and started. “Oh, look who it is!” she said, nudging him with a wicked glint to her eyes.

Elliott turned to look and stopped dead in his tracks.

It was Katrionel, but she wasn’t wearing the colorful button up and overalls he’d come to expect from her. No, she looked like a vision from Yoba in a knee-length dress, long pale blue stripes from collared neck to knee. Her sleeves were still cuffed, but they were carefully pressed and crisp, not hastily rolled up and out of the way. Her ash blonde hair somehow appeared even lighter and more white; half of it was braided up and around her head in a crown, while the rest fell in soft waves down her back.

Leah nudged him again with a sharp elbow; he winced and glanced at her. “You’re staring,” she told him, trying not to grin too wide. “You should ask her to dance!”

“And leave you without a partner?” Elliott asked, frowning. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Forget about me, idiot, you’re head over heels and it’s obvious. Go ask her!”

He glanced over again, just in time to see Katrionel herself approaching. That beaming smile he’d grown so used to seeing made him smile as well. “Hello Elliott! Hi, Leah!”

“Hello!” Leah said, grinning at her. “You look lovely! We weren’t sure you were going to make it to the dance at all, but I’m glad you did.” She tacked on, with her grin turning wicked, “I’m sure Elliott is too, right, Elliott?”

“Of course,” he replied, shooting a glare at her from the corner of his eye.

Katrionel laughed. “I needed the break,” she admitted. “Lately it feels like it’s just been work, work, work. I think I remember coming to the Flower Dance when I was a little girl, actually, just visiting Grandpa in the valley.”

“Really?” Elliott asked.

She nodded. “It’s been… oh, heavens, at least twenty years now. I think I was five or six, the last time I was able to come visit during the school year. After that it was all summer visits.”

“Things must be very different from how you remember them.”

Another nod, this one with a wistful hint to it. “That was back when Grandma was still alive, I think. Even though they were starting to get on in years, Grandpa insisted on dancing with her.” A melancholy smile. “I think I can almost hear her laugh again, if I concentrate hard enough. Neither of them cared what the rest of town thought about them joining in with the youngins.”

She stared out over the river, lost in thought. Leah’s bony elbow jabbed Elliott in the side; he was starting to think he’d get a bruise there from the repeated abuse. He glanced down at her; she glared at him. “Ask her, you idiot!” she mouthed.

Then Katrionel sighed and straightened. “Well! I should go talk with some of the other townsfolk. I’ve been here for over three weeks and still haven’t met everybody, can you believe it?” She laughed aloud and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll see both of you around. Have fun dancing!”

Then she was gone in a swirl of skirts before he could say anything.

“Idiot,” Leah said, with a deadpan stare.

They danced together as they had the year before. Elliott still stumbled through a few of the more complicated steps, but Leah was there to support him and help him find his footing again.

He truly felt bad, though. Here he was, dancing with another woman; yet he could hardly take his mind off the woman standing beside Mayor Lewis and clapping in time with the music. A turn had them meeting eyes; then Katrionel smiled, and he almost completely forgot the next step.

“Hopeless,” Leah muttered, and for once he didn’t disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written in the aftermath of a bad relationship and breakup to remind myself there's good love in the world. Please be kind; it's wish fulfillment, but I liked it enough I wanted to share it.  
> There will be four chapters, one centered on every season. I hope you enjoyed.


	2. Summer, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer rolls in with the tide.

Spring turned into Summer, and before Elliott knew it, his annual checkup at Harvey’s had arrived. After an accidental late wakeup and hasty breakfast, he pulled on a pale blue button-up – not the same one he’d worn for the Flower Dance, that one was too nice for everyday wear – and headed north into town.

“Elliott!” Maru greeted him with a warm smile and wave as he pushed the door open. Her nurse’s cap sat a touch askew on her head; she straightened it. “Go ahead and have a seat. Harvey’s with a patient right now, but he should be out soon.”

So Elliott sat and stretched long legs out in front of him. He could hear low voices from behind the door into the clinic proper, a man and woman, if he made them out correctly. They got closer and closer, until finally the door opened, admitting Harvey and-

Elliott’s breath caught in his throat, and not from shock at her beauty, this time.

Katrionel limped into the waiting room, favoring her left leg – which was swathed in bandages. She looked far more pale than normal. If he wasn’t mistaken, there was dried blood in her greasy hair.

“Miss Katrionel?” he asked, rising to his feet in concern.

She looked up, startled. “Oh, goodness, Elliott -- how’re you?” Her smile, usually so bright it was blinding, seemed pained.

“I’m fine – are you quite all right?” He moved forwards, offering her his arm.

She hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took it. “Yeah, I’ll be fine – I was mining and got in a bit over my head. I’m just going to go home now and get some sleep…” Her shoulders slumped. “But I still have to water my crops.”

“At the least, I can walk you home,” Elliott told her, as he felt the weight she was putting on his arm increase. “I’d quite like to make sure you get home all right.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Harvey said. “If you’d be willing to do that, I think I can postpone your appointment for another half an hour or so. Katrionel, take it easy for the next few days, and come see me for a follow-up… let’s say a week from today. Sooner if you think something is wrong.”

Katrionel gave him a rather weak smile. “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see you later.” She turned her smile on Elliott, something a little more real. “You know where the farm is, right?”

“West of town, correct?”

“Precisely.”

They stepped out into the summer sun and took their time walking back to her farm. Katrionel was unusually quiet, favoring her leg every few steps. “Careful,” Elliott murmured after her foot landed awkwardly and she hissed. “Take it easy.”

“I’m trying,” Katrionel muttered. She took a steady breath and resumed their slow and steady pace. “I  _ hate  _ this. I’ve never been injured this badly before. And it was a slime!” She threw her free arm out in a wild gesture. “A- a pile of slimy  _ goo  _ burned my leg that badly!”

“A slime?” Elliott asked, unable to help his curiosity.

“Yes-” She huffed again and hobbled another few steps. “I was exploring the mines, trying to get some ore for a few projects. Got in a little over my head.”

“You should be careful,” he chastised, as gently as he could. “Those mines have been closed for a long time, from everything I’ve heard. They were closed originally for good reason.”

“I’m well aware.” Her voice had unexpectedly gone stiff, a little cool. He’d touched a nerve. She drew away from him a little, weight lifting from his arm as she came to a stop. He looked down at her; she didn’t look back, staring straight ahead down the road. “I think I can make it from here. Thank you, Elliott-”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.” The word had bite to it. She released his arm and dusted herself off with a stiff nod. “Have a good day. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“… yes. I’m sure you will.”

Elliott watched her go, a little bemused as she walked, somehow strong and steady now, through the entrance to her farm.

* * *

He didn’t see Katrionel again until the Luau, two days later. Truth be told, he’d forgotten all about it until he opened his front door to go stand on the pier and stepped into the midst of the townsfolk on the beach.

Leah laughed herself silly at the startled, shocked look on his face. “Oh, man, you’re so clueless sometimes,” she said, wiping her eyes. Then she sidled closer and nudged him with her bony elbow; he was getting more and more used to that. “How’s it going with the pretty lady?”

At the reminder, Elliott’s shoulders sagged and he let out a weary sigh. “I think I offended her.”

“How?!” Leah stared at him. “What did you say to her?!”

“I ran into her at Harvey’s – she got hurt mining and I told her she should be more careful next time as I was walking her home-”

But Leah was already shaking her head. “The woman’s got her pride,” she said. “She probably didn’t appreciate you treating her like a child.”

“I wasn’t!” Elliott protested. “At least… it wasn’t my intention.”

Leah patted his shoulder gently. “You should talk to her,” she suggested. “Apologize. I know you didn’t mean to insult her, but she may not have seen it that way. She mentioned bringing something for the Luau soup, so she should be here today-” She cut herself off as she glanced over one shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Elliott turned just in time to see Katrionel herself enter from the north, walking briskly. Her leg was still bandaged, but she was already walking easier; if she was faking it, she was doing a very good job of it. Voices called greetings to her; she responded with a wave and a smile to the beach in general. She climbed the stairs and dropped something into the big cauldron containing the Luau Stew. Then she retreated to the shoreline.

Leah nudged Elliott with an elbow. “Go,” she hissed. “And have fun!”

By the time he reached the water, Katrionel had already shucked her socks and boots and was wading into the water carefully. She wasn’t the only one; Jas was reluctant to get her clothes wet, but Vincent and Sam splashed in the waves a little ways down the beach. Katrionel walked into the surf and stopped, tilting her head back to the sky and closing her eyes.

“Miss Katrionel?” he said, pausing just beyond the reach of the waves.

“You don’t have to call me ‘Miss’, Elliott,” she said, eyes still closed as she basked in the sunlight.

“How did you know it was me?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder, good humor dancing in her eyes. “You’re the only person who calls me that.”

He laughed, a little embarrassed, and scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “My apologies, Katrionel. And I… wanted to apologize, for a few days ago?”

Katrionel sighed, but before he could speak, she turned and waded back towards him. “I need to apologize too,” she said wryly. “My pride and pain got the better of me. I know you only meant the best.”

“How’s your leg?”

She tapped the bandage still wound around her calf. “Been better, but I’m all right for now. I’m hoping I’ll be all better soon enough – I’ve got another big harvest that’s supposed to come through in the next few days.”

They stood together in the surf, watching the waves roll in and out. Finally Katrionel nudged him with her elbow. She was nowhere near as bony as Leah was; hers was gentle and teasing, as opposed to the knowing, pointed way Leah typically did the same. “You should join me,” she said, swishing one foot through the water and splashing at him playfully.

He dodged the water, nearly staggering in the sand and chuckling despite himself. “Maybe when your leg is better – don’t want you getting your bandage wet.”

Her shoulders slumped a little. “You’re right. Don’t want Harvey yelling at me.” But she didn’t budge, letting the surf roll over her feet. Elliott stood beside her and listened to the whisper of the waves as she did.

The Luau soup was a hit, even more so than last year. Silently, Elliott credited Katrionel’s addition to the soup as the reason for its success.

* * *

“Careful!”

Elliott blinked once, then twice. His hands were buried in his slightly greasy hair, tugging at hanks as he stared down at the typewriter in front of him. The voice had come from behind him, beyond his front door; he cast a glance over his shoulder, but returned to his work a moment later.

“Vincent, don’t go too close to the water,” someone ordered. That was Penny, if he wasn’t mistaken; she must have brought Vincent and Jas down to the ocean for a break from schoolwork. The first voice had been different, though; he wasn’t sure precisely whose it was, but he had a hunch.

“Miss Kat, Miss Kat, look!” a little girl cried. Elliott found himself on his feet without being consciously aware of the motion, already turning towards the door. A moment to breathe, to compose himself, to ask what in the world he was doing – but then he smoothed both hands down the front of the blousy shirt he wore and stepped outside into the sunshine.

There were several people on the beach, some playing in the waves, others standing well back and simply observing. Vincent splashed Jas, who danced out of the way with a shriek; there was laughter, and Elliott turned to see Katrionel.

Today she wore a gauzy kimono style jacket over a pair of short overalls, bare toes digging into the sand beneath her feet. While Penny, who stood beside her, wore a large floppy sunhat, Katrionel was bareheaded, hair up in a messy bun at the back of her head with wisps loose to frame her face. She carried a bucket in one hand. The other shielded her eyes from the bright sun.

“Hello, Elliott!” Penny called cheerfully, waving the hand not keeping her hat on her head. “Did we disturb you? I’m really sorry-“

“No need,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I was having no luck writing anyways. Is it a field trip today, then?”

“Kind of,” Katrionel said, lowering her voice a little as he drew closer. “I’m collecting sea shells – it’s a good time for it, the tides have been depositing way more than normal. See?” She lifted the bucket higher and offered it for inspection. It was full almost to the brim with a variety of shells.

“Very nice,” he said with a smile, glancing up at her face. He almost immediately wished he hadn’t – her eyes were particularly purple in the sunlight. He swore he could feel his heart skip a beat.

Katrionel smiled, then brightened even further. “Oh! Look – Harvey took my cast off!” She stuck one leg out and shook it, throwing sand everywhere. Sure enough, the offending cast was gone. “Which means I am going to go splash in the waves, because that water is about bathwater temperature and I intend to enjoy myself.” She dropped the bucket onto the sand and marched out to the water. Elliott watched her go.

“I guess the gossip really was right,” Penny said softly beside him.

He glanced down at her. “What gossip?”

“Oh… nothing. Oh-!”

She started forwards a step, appearing alarmed, but soon calmed again. Elliott followed her gaze; Vincent had fallen in the water, but Katrionel was already there, helping him back to his feet. “C’mon, Jas, the water won’t hurt your dress!” she called to the girl, who hung back from the waves. Apparently that was all the encouragement she needed – already barefoot, she charged into the water as well.

“Back to your point,” he said, looking over at Penny again. “What gossip do you speak of in particular?”

“Nothing,” she repeated, and maybe it was just the sun, but he could swear her cheeks were turning red. “Ignore me.”

Elliott raised his eyebrows. “I quite doubt that. It has to do with Katrionel, doesn’t it? Most gossip about town these days does.”

“Kind of.” Penny didn’t look at him as she said, “I shouldn’t spread rumors, but… people have been saying you’ve got a crush on Katrionel.”

Wonderful. He wondered who, precisely, had begun that rumor. If he was betting money on it, he’d bet on Leah. “I see,” he said dryly.

“Sorry, Elliott.” Penny winced as he glanced at her and they met eyes for the first time. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but it’s… kind of obvious.”

He sighed. “It rather is, isn’t it? I’m afraid I’ve never been very good at hiding how I feel.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Penny said with a little shrug. They watched as Katrionel kicked up a splash that doused Vincent, only to dodge a return attack with a shout of laughter. “And I don’t think she knows, either.”

Elliott let out a soft breath. “Good.”

“Why?” She glanced at him, a curious frown on her face.

“I don’t want to push her. She’s only been here for a season and a half, anyways. I’m sure she already knows how invested the town is in her personal life. Better that she doesn’t know I…” He hesitated. “How I feel.”

“That’s very gallant of you.” He thought the look she gave him then was approving.

“It’s only polite.” He slid both hands into the pockets of his pants, content to watch as Katrionel waded out further into the water. When it was up to mid-thigh, just below her overalls, she stopped and tilted her face up to the sun.

She was a vision to behold, Elliott thought – a muse of summer, a spirit of the ocean made flesh. For a moment, she just stood there, basking in the sun, and he was content to simply observe her from afar.

Beside him, Penny let out a soft ‘oh’. “What is it?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from Katrionel.

“It’s nothing. It’s just-“ She trailed off for a moment, and then spoke again. “I think I see what they mean in stories, when they say someone has love in their eyes.”

Elliott, however, didn’t process what she had just said. “I believe inspiration has just struck me,” he said, mind racing as dots began to connect and plot started to develop right before him. “I must go write this down before I forget it- enjoy your day at the beach.” Raising his voice and one hand, he called, “Goodbye, Vincent, Jas, Miss Katrionel! Enjoy your afternoon!”

She turned in the water to wave at him as he quickly retreated into his cabin. He had a story to work on.

* * *

The next few days blurred together as Elliott wrote. Things were coming together shockingly fast, the plot almost entirely outlined and the characters well on their way to being fully fleshed out beings.

The ending, however, yet evaded him. He couldn’t decide on a satisfactory conclusion – happy or sad? Should a character die? What was the best way to offer satisfying ends to all character arcs? His writing began to slow to a trickle as the worries and problems built up, until his fingers finally paused on the typewriter keys in the middle of a sentence.

The cup of tea he’d made had grown cold as he’d worked. With a weary sigh, he stretched his arms over his head, hearing joints crack and pop. Just how long had he been working? He wasn’t sure how many times he’d slept since his last foray outdoors.

He needed to get out of the house. His supply of food was running low anyways; he could use a break to go eat and drink something, interact with a human or two. It was still a little light out when he glanced outside, and he took the opportunity to take a shower, dry his hair, and dress up nicely. Then he grabbed his coin purse and headed north, to the Stardrop Saloon.

Apparently, it was already Friday, because Elliott stepped through the front door to a raucous, lively barroom. Robin and Demetrius danced together in the small patch of open floor between the tables and the back room; Shane drank in his corner beside the giant bear statue Elliott had never been fond of. Mayor Lewis said something that made Marnie laugh, her cheeks flushed already, though he wasn’t sure it was entirely from the drink. Willy and Pam sat at opposite ends of the bar, each too deep in their cups to notice him, though Willy was noticeably more cheerful than Pam.

“Elliott!”

He startled at his shouted name and looked around. Leah sat at her usual table, but she wasn’t alone – Katrionel sat with her, swirling red wine in a long-stemmed glass. She lifted her free hand in a wave, one he returned.

First, though, he ordered a plate of spaghetti and a bottle of wine from Gus. Only then did Elliott move to sit down with them.

A mostly-empty bottle of wine sat before them, though Elliott didn’t recognize the label on it. Leah lifted her glass as he sat down. “Hey! The hermit finally emerges from his cave!”

“It’s been a while,” Katrionel agreed. She sipped her wine for a moment. “I was starting to get worried when you didn’t show up at the bridge for the past few days.”

He tried not to let the way his heart soared when she said she’d been looking for him show. Judging by the look on Leah’s face and the way she knocked the rest of the wine in her glass back like it was a shot, he hadn’t succeeded.

“My apologies,” he said, with an awkward half-bow as he was still sitting. Leah rolled her eyes covertly as she reached for the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. “Inspiration struck with regards to my novel and I had to follow it as long as I could.”

“Understandable.” Katrionel raised her glass a bit in a toast, then took another sip. “How does the writing go?”

“It was going well, but I seem to have hit a wall,” he admitted. “I can’t decide how to end the story.”

Both women’s eyebrows went up. “You got that far in a week?” Leah asked (so it had been a week after all). “That’s really impressive.”

“It is,” Katrionel agreed. They paused as Emily brought over a fresh bottle of wine and Elliott’s dinner; he thanked her and tipped her as much as he was able to. Katrionel looked at the second bottle and raised her eyebrows. “Is that just for you, or are you sharing?”

“I could be persuaded to share,” he said, taking a bite and closing his eyes momentarily. It was wonderful food. When he looked again, Leah shook her head and pretended to poke a finger into her open mouth. Elliott glanced at Katrionel quickly, but she was finishing the rest of her wine and so missed the gesture. “As an exchange.”

“In exchange for what?” Katrionel asked, after placing her glass back down on the table.

“Your opinions on how the ending should work.”

“Ooh, intriguing.” Her blue-purple eyes danced as she poured the last of the open wine bottle into her glass and swirled it around. “Go on.”

“I can’t decide on the ending,” Elliott said again. “There’s so many directions I could take it – I could go for a happy ending, or a bittersweet or sad one…”

“Make it a happy ending.”

He looked over at Katrionel, not expecting such an immediate response. “Pardon?”

Her gaze bore into his. “It’s exhausting to read so many sad endings, or bittersweet, or whatever. Most of the books I’ve read in the past few years have ended like that. I’d like to read a story that has a happy ending, for once.”

“Agreed.” Leah had snagged the bottle of wine out from under his nose as he’d focused on Katrionel and opened it, pouring some into his own glass. “Drink up, you look like you need it. Sad endings are overrated anyways. Life doesn’t always end like that, why should stories?”

He got the feeling she was talking directly to him, though he couldn’t quite identify her intended message.

They sat and talked for a while longer, splitting the bottle of wine until it ran dangerously low. Katrionel eventually yawned, covering her mouth with a dainty hand. “As much as I’d love to stay longer, I need to go to bed before it gets too much later. I should have another harvest tomorrow. Leah, we’re still on for scavenging later this week?”

“Of course.” Leah raised her glass, sloshing it around a little. “How’s about a toast f’r the road?”

There was just a little wine left in the bottle. Elliott lifted it, quirking an eyebrow at Katrionel. She laughed softly and offered her glass; he poured the last few drops for her.

“To our friendship,” she said, raising her glass high. Her eyes never left Elliott’s; he felt his heart sink a little as he offered his glass to her, glass clinking softly. They each knocked their glasses against Leah, then drank deeply.

“You sure you’re good to walk home?” Leah asked as she lowered her glass. “I’d offer, buuuut…” She trailed off, gesturing to herself with the wineglass. Elliott quickly retrieved it from her hand before it could splash all over her clothes.

“I should be fine. I’m more worried about you, truth be told,” Katrionel said with a laugh.

“You shouldn’t be walkin’ home in the dark alone,” Leah pressed. She looked over at Elliott and brightened. “Elliott!” she exclaimed, as if she’d just realized he was there for the first time all evening. “Y’ should- you should walk her home!”

“Just how much have you had to drink tonight?” he wondered quietly, but glanced at Katrionel. “I’d be happy to walk you home, Katrionel, though I won’t be offended if you refuse.”

“Ooh, no more ‘Miss’?” Leah teased. He resolutely ignored her.

“Oh, there’s no need to inconvenience yourself – I’ll be fine.” Katrionel smiled at them and patted his shoulder as she passed. She paid at the bar, then called, “Goodnight!” and before he could respond, the door swung closed behind her.

Elliott watched the door for perhaps a moment too long. When he turned back to the table, Leah was watching him, staring with deadened eyes. “Absolutely hopeless,” she said, sounding far more sober than she had a few moments prior.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Drunk, hm?”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t stay too much longer, pausing at the counter on the way out to pay for his food. When he tried, however, Gus waved him away with one hand. “It’s already been paid for. Katrionel covered your table’s tab before she left.”

“Oh.” He tried not to let his surprise show. “Well… thank you. Goodnight, Gus!”

Out into the night he went, resolutely not reacting to the mischievous, knowing smile Gus sent him before he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed I removed the chapter count. That's because this story has expanded wildly out of my original estimate. Summer is two chapters, and Fall is likely pushing three. Winter isn't even finished yet.  
> Thank you for your kind words and your kudos; they mean more to me than you'll ever know.


	3. Summer, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back to haunt us all in different ways.

“What’s that?”

Katrionel shot him a curious look as she came to a halt at his side on the bridge. Elliott swallowed hard; no turning back now. He looked down at the papers in his hands.

“Well, you recall once how you offered to edit for me if my novel were ever finished?”

“I don’t doubt you’ll finish it, but go on.”

His heart fluttered in his chest; he pressed on. “It’s not quite finished yet, but if you’re still interested… this is chapter one. If you’d like-”

“Of course!” Katrionel reached out, making grabbing motions with both hands. “Let me see!”

A little surprised at her enthusiasm, he handed it over. “Just chapter one right now?” she asked absently, taking the stack of papers and turning so her back was to the stone railing. One hand flicked through the pages.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you. And if for some reason you decided you’d no longer like to continue reading it, you wouldn’t have a stack of pages taller than either you or I.”

Katrionel laughed; he basked in the sound for a moment. “Is this all typewritten?” she asked, pausing on a page. Her fingers ran down the page, tracing over the words with such delicacy he was momentarily speechless.

“Oh -- yes,” he said hastily, hoping the pause hadn’t been too noticeable. “I prefer the visceral sense of typewriter keys to a computer’s.”

“It’s very like you,” she agreed. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant and so kept silent. “I’d be happy to read through this and do some editing for you. Any deadline that you want to meet?”

“Oh – no, none come to mind. Just if you have time. It’s no real rush.” Elliott shrugged, giving her a small smile as she glanced over at him.

“Sounds good!” She folded her arms around the pages, hugging them to her chest. “So how’ve you been since I last saw you Friday?”

They fell into comfortable conversation as usual, enough so that Elliott almost managed to forget about the first chapter of his manuscript held tight in her hands. He kept thinking about it, though, as she bid him a good night and walked away, as he retired to his hut on the beach to make dinner, as he struggled to plot a happy, satisfying ending for all the main characters. Late at night, he finally turned down the oil lamp and went to sleep, though his dreams were still haunted by the images of his characters.

Breakfast was a small, light affair – leftovers he’d defrosted, he wasn’t even sure entirely what they were. They weren’t moldy and weren’t entirely tasteless, which was good enough for him. He sat down at his typewriter once more to try and hash out some details when someone knocked on the door.

“Hello?” he called, glancing at the window beside the door. It was still quite early; he usually never received visitors until well after noon.

The door cracked open; a familiar face poked her head inside. “I finished it and I have Thoughts,” Katrionel said briskly. He could hear the capital on the final word. “May I come in?”

“You finished it already?” he asked, startled and uncaring that he sounded it. “And yes, of course – I’m afraid my house is a bit of a disaster-”

“I don’t care,” she said, pushing the door open all the way and approaching him at his desk. “Here- marked up with a red pen and everything, like a true editor.” 

She offered the stack of paper to him. It was less crisp than he remembered it, corners creased, a few pages wrinkled, and the faint smell of coffee hanging about it like a cloud. Sure enough, there was red splashed all over the first page, and his shoulders sank right along with his heart.

“Don’t look like that,” Katrionel chastised. “That’s one of the better pieces of fiction I’ve ever read. Half those marks are praise or comments about things I liked.” She dropped into his comfy chair in front of the cold fireplace with a sigh. “So, what made you decide to go the fantasy romance route?”

Elliott jolted in place. “Was it that obvious it’s a romance?” he asked.

“A little.” Katrionel raised one hand and see-sawed it side to side. “You wrote Lukkas as someone who’s head-over-heels smitten with Aliviya, even though he may not know it yet.” Then, abruptly, her voice changed tone entirely. “I’d know what that’s like, at least.”

He was unprepared for the bitterness that filled her words to brimming, overflowed to fill the room as well. “Katrionel?” he asked quietly, setting the chapter aside and rising to his feet. “Is everything all right?”

A long silence settled over them. He carefully walked forwards so he could see her face better. It was as if a marble mask had settled over her features, locking them into place like a statue. “It’s nothing,” she finally said, and the spell cracked, but didn’t quite shatter. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“No, you can talk if you wish to.” Elliott drew his work chair closer and sat, leaning forward to better see her expressions. “What makes you say that?”

Katrionel met his eyes; hers were flat and glassy like a doll’s as she smiled. It was an unconvincing fake smile. She looked away again soon after. “Memories,” she said. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Katrionel.” He gave her a smile in return. “If you wish to speak, know I’d never betray your confidence.”

She laughed a little. “In this town? It’s well nigh impossible not to.”

But she looked deep in thought, and Elliott let the silence linger in the air. She would either tell him, or she wouldn’t; either was fine. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d never tell another soul whatever she confided to him.

“I had a… difficult relationship in college,” she admitted quietly. “I was so blinded by what I thought was love for him that I didn’t pay any attention to the warning signs… until he said one thing and they all lit up bright, bloody red at once.” She took a steadying breath. “I got out. But it left a mark.”

“Traumatizing events do that,” Elliott agreed quietly. “And they don’t fade away easily, or quietly.”

“Indeed they don’t.” Katrionel’s voice was hardly above a whisper. Then her eyes flicked to his again. “Look at me, lost in the past again.” Maybe it was meant to be a joke, but it fell rather flat. Regardless, he saw the door to the conversation close like a tangible thing in front of him. “Anyways. Enough about me. Lukkas and Aliviya – what happens next? I gotta know.”

“I’m not going to tell you,” he said, laughing as she groaned theatrically. “But you’re welcome to read it, if you so wish?” He lifted the stack of paper that composed chapter 2, wafting them in front of her tantalizingly.

“I do indeed so wish,” she said, holding out both hands and making the same grabbing motions as yesterday. “Gimme please!”

He expected her to leave once she’d gotten the chapter, but she tucked her legs under herself in the chair and produced a red pen from nowhere. “Just act like I’m not here,” she informed him, before digging back into the story.

Elliott did, for the most part. He was reminded when Katrionel snapped her fingers.

“You never answered my question, you know. What made you decide to write a fantasy romance?”

His heart jolted, but he managed to keep a lid on it (he hoped) and shrugged instead. “I just felt like writing that genre in particular, but there was no real reason to it,” he lied.

When he glanced over, it was to a blue-purple gaze peering over the back of his comfy chair. “All right, then,” Katrionel said, mischief dancing in those beautiful eyes. “Keep your secrets.”

And oh, if he hadn’t been gone for her already, watching her vanish back down behind the chair back to continue reading sealed his fate once and for all.

* * *

Banging on the front door roused him from his current “writer’s spell”, as Leah called it on occasion. Elliott sighed and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at a few tangles. He needed a proper shower, but he’d finally figured out how he wanted the story to end. He was so close to being finished…

More banging on the front door. “HEY!” Leah herself shouted from outside. “Elliott, come on out! You’ll miss the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies!”

Was it really already that time of year? Elliott blinked at the wall opposite him, then pushed his chair back and stood up. A light cardigan hung on a hook by the door; after a pause to consider the night air, he grabbed it and threw it around his shoulders as he opened the door.

Leah nearly knocked on his face with her fist. “Finally!” she exclaimed, grabbing his wrist and towing him out onto the beach. The front door slammed behind them. “Yoba above, Elliott, you need to keep better track of time!”

“I was writing,” he protested weakly as she pulled him towards the dock that lead to Willy’s house.

“Well, stop for a while, because you’re going to miss it if you don’t pay attention.” Leah rolled her eyes at him as they came to a stop, staring out over the water.

“I wouldn’t have missed anything. They didn’t arrive last year until Mayor Lewis sent the boat out-”

Wordless, Leah pointed.

He glanced over and did a double-take. Ignoring Leah’s quiet groan and “ladies and gents, we’ve lost him”, he watched Katrionel kneel at the dock side, next to Mayor Lewis. He was speaking to her softly; she nodded.

Her ash-blonde hair was braided back, but left to fall down her back. The end dangled dangerously close to the rough wooden planks that made up the dock, but one hand casually brushed it away and the danger passed. She wore a soft purple floral print shirt and jean shorts, comfortable and casual, yet somehow one of the prettiest outfits he’d ever seen her wear.

Then she brushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear and his breath caught in his throat. The candle in the boat was lit, and the soft firelight shimmered over her face, illuminating her soft features. The orange glow brought out the purple in her eyes, accented further by the purple of her shirt.

Katrionel leaned forwards and nudged the boat with a hand, watching as it began to drift out to sea. A hush fell over the beach as people caught sight of it. She herself knelt for a few moments longer, simply observing. Then she smoothly stood and walked to the edge of the dock.

Leah elbowed him so hard he swore he heard a rib pop. “Go!” she hissed, barely quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry over the water.

“But you’ll be alone,” he protested quietly.

“You think I mind? Go!”

He wasn’t exactly averse to the idea, and so – after a moment to steel his courage – he stepped over to stand at her side.

“Hello,” Katrionel murmured, low, gentle alto somehow resonating in his chest. “Fancy seeing you here.”

In that moment, he forgot he was in day-old clothing, with greasy hair and a five-o-clock shadow that was a little closer to a five-day shadow. “Hello,” he said, near breathless. “It was a near thing, you know. If it hadn’t been to Leah, I might have missed it entirely.” He paused, unsure of what to say next. “I believe I’m close to determining the ending.”

She glanced at him, a smile appearing on her lips. “Really? How much more do you have to write?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps another chapter, maybe two? We’ll see. I feel most arcs are wrapping up satisfactorily enough – though I’m not sure if they’ll meet your high standards.”

She stifled a laugh with one hand; he felt a matching smile grow on his own face. “Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we?” she asked, and then her breath caught in her throat and she faced forwards once more. “Look!”

It was rather unnecessary; the horizon was glowing a faint blue. The jellies had begun to float in. First it was just one, drifting past beneath their feet; then a second, then a third, on and on until there were hundreds of them, undulating beneath the water’s surface.

“Oh,” Katrionel breathed, sinking to her knees. Elliott awkwardly crouched beside her as she stared into the water. “Look at that.”

“Have you ever been here to witness it before?” he asked quietly.

“Yes. I think I vaguely remember it from when I was a child.” Katrionel’s gaze was fixed on the jellies in front of them. Her hair was almost white in the moonlight; the jellies’ natural bioluminescence lit her face with a sickly bluish light. “I remember not wanting to go, because they always signaled the end of summer, and I’d have to go back to the city.”

He nodded his understanding. “Seeing it for the first time last year… it was magical. Like something straight out of a fantasy story. It was incredible to just bear witness to the phenomenon.”

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure how much she’d actually heard. The look on her face told him she was in another time, somewhere he couldn’t follow. In one swift movement, she sat down and swung her feet over the edge, booted toes dangling perilously close to the water’s surface. If she noticed, she didn’t mind. Her gaze was still solely fixed on the jellies in the deep. 

“The last time I clearly remember seeing the jellies…” she murmured, so quiet that he thought he’d imagined it at first. “I was eight or nine, I think. I’d spent the summer with Grandma and Grandpa, and they took me down to the docks to watch the Dance. Grandma told me…” She frowned for a moment, hesitated. “She told me it was good luck to see a green jelly, because they’re so rare.”

“That’s what they told me last year as well,” Elliott whispered, before he could stop himself. 

Katrionel didn’t seem to mind, though; she smiled a little. “I remember we were sitting on the dock together, watching the jellies drift in, and then I saw one.”

“Really?” He’d looked for one all the previous year -- hadn’t seen cap nor tendril of it. The townsfolk had sworn up and down they existed, though. 

“Really.” She smiled a little. “I was so excited -- probably yelled loud enough they heard me up on the mountain. Grandma calmed me down and told me to make a wish -- that since I’d seen it first, I got the wish.” She gave a halting laugh, one that cut off abruptly. “So I wished… I wished to come back next year, see it again. She told me it was a wonderful wish. Those were her exact words: ‘a wonderful wish’.”

Another laugh: softer, weaker. “I got my wish. Her funeral happened the day before the Dance, next year. It was the last time I got to see it, before this year.”

He was momentarily stunned; he’d known Wilson Sherman’s wife had passed far before the old man himself had, but he had no idea it was that long ago. Or that Katrionel had been so close with her.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“Nothing you knew. Or could’ve helped.” She swung her feet a little, back and forth, back and forth. Then her legs came to an abrupt halt as she went stock still. “No.”

He looked to where her gaze was locked and had to do a double-take. Floating just below the surface of the water, giving off an eerie green glow, was a green jelly. 

Whispers rippled out from them as other townsfolk spotted the light. Katrionel was stricken, staring in absolute silence. Elliott didn’t know what to say, what to do. He was just as mute as she was.

Then he shook himself a little and reached out a cautious hand. His covered hers; she shook herself, looking over at him with an expression that was just a little lost, a little upset. 

“Perhaps it’s a sign, from her,” he whispered. “Telling you she’s with you.”

A tiny, tremulous smile appeared, just at the corner of her lips. “She would,” she breathed. Then she looked back down at the water, used her free hand to wipe her eyes. 

“Make a wish,” Elliott told her gently. “Just like you did with her.”

She seemed to settle, lifting her chin and closing her eyes. He followed suit after a few moments, though he didn’t have to think long and hard about it. He knew what his wish was. Regardless of where they went from here, it was sitting right beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this time. Thank you so, so much to the reviewer from last chapter with the kind words. <3


	4. Fall, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall arrives; friendship blooms as the leaves begin to die.

Katrionel was right; the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, as always, signaled the end of the summer. The next few mornings dawned bright and crisp, a snap in the air like the first bite into an apple. A fall wind whistled in off the ocean, flowing right through the cracks in Elliott’s little cottage. He shivered and bundled up more, resolving to take the day to try and patch up the chinks in the walls.

He pulled his winter coat out of the closet it hung in, shaking it out. It was… rather more moth-eaten than it had been when he’d put it away last spring. There were a few holes in the cuffs of the wool coat. It was also rather faded – though how, he wasn’t sure. It hadn’t seen sun in months.

He put it on anyways – it was the only coat he had available, so moth-eaten or not he was wearing it out. As he turned to a small, tarnished mirror that hung beside the front door to check his hair, someone knocked on it.

Elliott straightened a little, frowning. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, was he? None he’d forgotten about? None came to mind…

He opened the door anyways, coming face to face with a brilliant smile. Katrionel beamed up at him. “Happy birthday, Elliott!” she said cheerfully.

He felt his jaw slowly unhinge and lower. “It can’t be,” he said immediately, glancing back at the calendar inside his cabin. It was too far away to get a good look.

When he turned back, she was laughing, brushing loose hair behind one ear. “Did you really forget your own birthday?” she asked, a merry light dancing in her eyes.

“I suppose I did,” Elliott said, reaching one hand up to rake through his auburn hair. “I- come in, come in. I’m terribly sorry, I wasn’t expecting company- how did you know- that’s a silly question, the town calendar- I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

She had yet to stop laughing as the door closed behind her. “Easy there,” she said, resting one hand on her hip. “Calm down. I just wanted to bring your birthday gift by.”

She unslung her ever-present backpack from her shoulder and set it down, digging into it as she looked for something. “I swear I put it in here last night,” she murmured to herself, frowning for a moment; then her face brightened again. “Aha!”

Katrionel offered him a small package wrapped in what appeared to be newspaper and twine, with a pretty bow on top. “I hope you like it,” she said with a half-smile, half-wince. “It was… a little last minute, unfortunately.”

Elliott took it, noting the cursive scrawl of his name on the top of the package. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely,” he said with a small smile, untying the twine and unravelling the paper.

The last of the paper fell away and a wooden box rolled into his hands. Elliott inspected it, turned it over in his hands to find the opening. Katrionel was silent; he glanced at her as casually as he could. She was chewing her lower lip, wrinkles slowly deepening as her gaze flicked between his face and the box.

He found the top, flipped it open. All the breath fled from his lungs.

Lying on green velvet, held in place with a band of elastic, was a wooden pen. Elliott carefully tugged it from its bed and turned it over in his hands. It shone in the light cast by the oil lamp, a rich reddish-brown wood with golden accents. He tugged the cap off, revealing a fountain tip.

“You got me a fountain pen?” Elliott asked softly.

“Yep!” Katrionel gave him a sunny smile, one that didn’t quite hide the worry in her eyes. “I figured every good author needs a solid pen to sign autographs with, so…” She trailed off. “I, uh, meant to get it engraved with your name, but then I realized I didn’t know your last name, ha…”

He was still entranced by it, inspecting the wood more closely, holding the nib up to the light.

“Do… do you like it?”

Elliott jolted. “Like it? Katrionel, this is an  _ incredible _ gift! Thank you so much!”

Finally, a real smile broke across her face, all worried wrinkles erased from her forehead and hands unclenching at her sides. “I’m so glad,” she said with a relieved sigh. “I was really worried. I’m sorry I didn’t get it engraved, though…”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” he said, moving to his desk and shuffling through the papers there. A scrap sheet of paper he used to test his typewriter on came to hand. He carefully signed his name, adding the additional flourishes he’d always loved including. The pen scratched a little at first, but soon the ink flowed smoothly.

“This is wonderful,” he told her. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Katrionel smiled at him when he turned around, still cradling the pen carefully. “Well, I have to go, but I wanted to drop that by. Take care of yourself, all right? I’ll see you at the bridge!”

With that, she gave him a quick, unexpected hug and vanished out the door, with a half-laughed “goodbye!” tossed over one shoulder.

She left Elliott standing in the middle of his cabin, staring after her and holding the pen in his hands.

* * *

Elliott got sidetracked by his novel once more, unfortunately – he’d come up with a secondary plotline to add words to his novel, one that begged to be written down and leave the confines of his mind. A few days later, finally somewhat satisfied with the outcome of his work, he sat up straight and stretched, arms over his head and yawning.

A quick shower and he tugged on his coat, tightening the scarf that hung around his neck to keep out the wind. Perhaps Katrionel would be at the bridge, he thought absently as he traipsed across the windswept beach and north on the path into town.

Katrionel was not there, unfortunately, but Elliott leaned on the bridge regardless. He watched the water fly past beneath his feet with absent-minded curiosity, turning over the quandary of how to end the book while he waited patiently for her arrival.

But he waited until the sky grew dim and still she didn’t arrive. Only when a chill fell over the area and Elliott felt the wind biting through his coat did he walk towards the Stardrop Saloon for a bite to eat and something warm to drink.

He pushed open the door, feeling a wash of warm air over his face and through his hair. A few familiar voices called out greetings to him; he raised one hand in a careless wave, approaching the counter in long-legged strides. “Good evening, Emily.”

“Hey, charmer.” Emily winked at him, a wide grin on her face. It was a harmless flirtation; both of them knew neither was interested in the other, but Elliott’s unusually flowery prose when he’d first arrived in Pelican Town had earned him the nickname from her. “What’s your order tonight?”

“What’s the special?”

“Fried eel with a side of glazed yams, for a total of 600 gold.” She grinned at him. “Yams provided by our local farmer, of course!”

His pockets were feeling ever lighter the longer he stayed in Pelican Town. He winced, but paid up. “Have you seen her recently?” he asked as Emily got his change out of the til and passed it over.

“Your farm girl?” she asked absently. “No, not in a few days.”

“My farm- what are you- she’s not- I mean-“ Elliott sputtered over the words.

She burst out laughing, the harsh, braying laugh he’d come to appreciate. It could quiet a room, and indeed the noise level in the saloon dimmed a little, but everyone present was used to her and conversations soon picked up again.

Elliott grumbled wordlessly, slumping down on his barstool. “Everyone seems to know more about my life than I do.”

“Well, it’s a little obvious.” Emily bustled around behind the counter, serving up a plate of the evening’s special and placing it on the counter in front of him with a bottle of cider. “On the house, for such a loyal customer. To answer your question, no one has seen her in a day or two. Think it’s got something to do with the Stardew Valley Fair – Lewis told her about the grange display.”

He frowned, tried to remember what that was.

“It’s a display of the best you have to offer, nine items. It’s a contest, kind of. You can win first place if your display is really something, get a whole bunch of star tokens to spend. It’s not so much that, though – it’s pretty prestigious. Brings a lot of fame to the name that wins.”

“Oh, I remember that,” he said, and indeed it was coming back to him. He’d spent most of the fair eating a ridiculous amount of Gus’ burgers in the plateau beside the old community center. Idly, he wondered if Gus would be catering once again. “I don’t believe I paid much attention to the grange display, though.”

“Well, Kat seems pretty interested in it. No one’s really seen her since Lewis told her about it.” Emily shrugged. “My guess is she’s running herself ragged trying to get ready in time.”

“Hm.” Elliott did his best not to seem too concerned, but wasn’t sure he was convincing Emily. “Maybe someone should check on her.”

“You volunteering?” Emily winked as he glanced up in surprise.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but found he couldn’t. The idea had merit. Apparently seeing his thoughts on his face, Emily laughed, before Pam called her away for a refill.

He slowly ate and tried to ponder his novel’s ending, but his mind kept drifting back to blonde hair and shining blue-purple eyes. After he nearly dropped some of the glaze from the yams on his jacket, he gave himself a mental shake. This was ridiculous. If he wanted to see her so much, and she wasn’t able to come visit him, then perhaps he should just go to her.

* * *

“Hello?”

Elliott paused at the edge of Sherman Farm, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. It was a beautiful day, but it did nothing to quell the nerves in his stomach. This was his first time setting foot on the farm Katrionel lived on. He’d never been before, when it was still in ruins and wreckage from being abandoned for years. He’d seen no point in exploring then, truthfully.

Now he squared his shoulders and cautiously set foot on Katrionel’s land. 

He was immediately struck by just how much land their was. To his left was a small field, waist-high grass surrounding short, stubby trees that had already shed most of their leaves. Beyond that he could make out a staircase leading up to a small plateau. Dead ahead were small crop fields, all sorts of crops he didn’t recognize. Over a small plank bridge crossing a fast-flowing river, he saw more trees -- the wild varieties he was familiar with. They marched up a small hill and crested at the top with a cluster of what he thought were maple trees. He could make out taps on their trunks.

As he peered further into the farm, searching for a familiar head of blonde hair, there was a distant bark. A brief frown; Katrionel had never mentioned a dog that he could recall. It was a loud, sharp, high-pitched bark, one that picked up in frequency and volume until he was certain it was approaching at breakneck speeds -- even though he’d yet to make the dog out. 

A rustling drew his attention to the nearby cornfield. Cornstalks shook and wobbled, drawing closer. He braced himself for anything as it neared the edge of the plants-

A small dog burst from within the corn stalks, racing towards him as fast as its short legs could carry it and barking all the while. “Oh!” he said in surprise as the dog almost skidded to a halt in front of him and planted its paws securely on his pantlegs, wiggling wildly. It had no tail to speak of, and its coat was white on the chest and from the nose to the forehead, but otherwise a mix of a tawny color and black. He suspected it was a corgi, though he couldn’t be sure -- he’d never been allowed a pet during his childhood.

“Winnie!” a familiar voice shouted in the distance. Elliott looked up from the dog that was currently washing his hands thoroughly with its tongue just in time to see Katrionel emerge from the north of the farm.

Truth be told, she looked rough. Her blonde hair was tied up and back in a tight ponytail, but it wasn’t doing much to keep loose strands from falling in her face. There was dirt smeared all over her cheeks and forehead, some running down her face due to sweat beading and dripping there. The shirt she wore was torn and old, clearly from her college days due to the cheerful banner announcing “Parent’s Day” before it was cut off by the straps and bib of her overalls. Even in the chilly weather, she wore her short overalls and leather boots, laces tied around the back of her ankle and then in the front again. Her eyes… her eyes were tired, but they sparked with surprise as she looked at him. 

“Elliott? What are you doing here -- oh, Yoba, Winnie, get off him-” 

She jogged across the narrow bridge, feet sure though the boards rocked beneath her, and grabbed the dog around the middle. In one smooth motion, she picked the corgi up and cradled her in her arms. “Sorry about her. She’s still a little young.”

“Oh, no, it’s no imposition. I... didn’t know you had a dog,” Elliott said, not sure what else to say.

“She’s a recent development.” Katrionel’s voice took on a wry tone. “An old college friend got kicked out of her apartment. Winnie was hers, originally. But she couldn’t keep dogs in her new apartment and asked me to take her as a favor. She’s spoiled rotten, isn’t she, cutie?” -- this last bit to the corgi doing its level best to wash her face clean with its tongue. “Keeps scaring the feathers off the chickens. Little beast.”

He couldn’t detect any real malice in her tone, only soft fondness as she scratched the thick ruff around the dog’s neck. “She’s quite pretty,” he offered instead, still at a loss for words.

“Thank you!” She beamed at him, before subsiding once more. “But I’m sure you’re not here to admire my new dog. What brings you here?”

“Ah… checking up on you, actually,” he said. He swore he could feel his face coloring even as he said it. What ridiculous flight of fancy this was. “You, ehm, you hadn’t visited the bridge and everyone said you hadn’t been seen in days, so…”

He trailed off, fighting not to cough awkwardly as he glanced at his trousers and brushed away dirt and mud from the cloth. When he looked up, though, Katrionel was looking at him, surprised and… touched.

“That’s really kind of you,” she said, leaning down to let Winnie run free again. The dog immediately jumped up on her, scratching claws down Katrionel’s bare legs. He winced; she hardly flinched as she scratched Winnie’s head. “You’re the first villager to do so, you know.”

“Really?” He was a little startled at that admission. She’d touched all their lives in some form or fashion. He found it hard to believe no one had gotten worried and come looking for her. 

“Really.” She gave him a smile, and his heart skipped a beat despite himself. Messy and filthy or not, she was still quite pretty. “Well, since I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve been here, allow me to welcome you to Sherman Farm!”

She threw her arms out wide to indicate the entire farm, and Elliott would be lying if he didn’t see some of the appeal in the farming life. The farm was well-organized, peaceful and idyllic. He commented as much to Katrionel.

He wasn’t prepared for her to burst into peals of laughter. Alarm spiked, wondering if he’d said or done something wrong.

“Oh, heavens,” she said after she’d gathered herself back together. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just -- this all is a very new development. My farm even a season ago… well. Let’s just say it was a hot mess and leave it at that.”

“You’d never know it,” Elliott told her. “This is… incredible. Especially since you did this all yourself!”

He glanced over just in time to see her flush, brushing stray tendrils of hair out of her face with the back of one hand. Even more dirt streaked across her cheeks and the tip of her nose. 

“Oh, here -- you’ve just got-”

Before he could second guess himself, he snagged his handkerchief from his pocket and stepped closer, reaching out to swipe the dirt off her nose. She wrinkled it at him, blue purple eyes dancing; he laughed as he refolded the cloth and tucked it away again. For a moment, he took in the lines and curves of her face, her eyes, her smile. 

“Thank you kindly,” Katrionel said with a grin. Elliott tried not to physically shake himself and stepped back to give them both space, clearing his throat a little awkwardly. “Now -- can I offer you a tour?”

“Aren’t you busy? The word about town is you’re preparing for the Stardew Valley Fair.”

He almost wished he hadn’t said anything as her shoulders slumped and a look of abject weariness crossed her face. “I am,” she said, with a weighty sigh. “But I can use the break. C’mon. I’ll show you around.”

It soon became clear that she was utilizing just about every square foot of her farm she could. He couldn’t see a clear specialization: she kept chickens and spoke of adding cows sometime early next year, she had several small fields of all different varieties of crops, there was even an orchard he’d glimpsed as he entered from the south. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted as they approached the stairs leading up to her house. “I don’t have any sprinklers yet — figured that’s a winter project when nothing’s growing — so I have to water everything by hand.”

Elliott, recalling the seemingly endless fields to their south, felt his eyebrows rising of their own volition. “All by yourself?” he asked. 

Katrionel nodded with a weary sigh. “‘S why I haven’t been in town lately. It’s a full 9-to-5 job. Only more like 6am to 11pm. And just when I thought I’d left that behind in the city…”

They arrived on the front porch of her home, a tiny affair that hardly looked to be two rooms total. She disappeared inside briefly and reappeared with water for herself and tea for him. “It’s a little cold now,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “I brewed a pot for breakfast and forgot about it.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he said, accepting it with a smile. The mug appeared to be from a secondhand store, advertising an insurance company he’d never heard of before. The tea was still quite good cold, when he sipped it. “I’m not going to set you behind schedule with my unsolicited visit, am I?”

She gave a little laugh, taking a deep swig from her water bottle. “Your ‘unsolicited visit’ gives me an excuse to take a break. Thank you for swinging by.”

“Of course.” He felt a little more nervous now, but he’d originally decided to come here with a purpose, and he intended to follow through on it. “I, ah… I wasn’t sure if you needed any help with the grange display, but if you did, I’m here to offer my services in any way I can.”

“Oh!” Katrionel seemed momentarily stunned, leaning against the railing of her porch with her water bottle, positively speechless. She was silent just long enough for him to begin fidgeting uncomfortably. Then a grin broke across her face, and it felt like the sun finally coming out. 

She put him to work watering crops while she pulled weeds. Even though he was exhausted and aching all over at the end of the day, it was all worth it to speak with her through the entire day and hear her laughter echo through the little farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kind words and the kudos; I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I seem to be falling into a Wednesday update schedule, so expect another chapter next Wednesday barring external problems.


	5. Fall, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fair and the aftermath.

Elliott woke early the morning of the Fair itself, showered and dried his hair properly, dressed in his nicest, warmest clothes. His hands shook as he buttoned his shirt up to his throat and wound an old, threadbare scarf around his throat. If he was this nervous and he wasn’t even participating in the grange display, he couldn’t imagine how Katrionel was feeling. 

It was a struggle not to make a beeline for the food on the plateau above the town proper, but Elliott restrained himself. He dawdled around the fair games instead, graciously refusing the barkers calling to him. His gaze was near permanently fixed on the pathway leading to Sherman Farm. 

Then movement from the forested road. Katrionel appeared, walking fast as she approached the town square. He’d never seen her hair done up the way it was now -- a braid wrapping all the way around her head, a few stray pieces falling loose around her face. She wore a knee-length navy trench coat, buttoned all the way up to the gray knit scarf at her throat. Low-heeled boots tapped rapidly on the pavestones as she crossed the square and paused by Mayor Lewis. They exchanged a few words; he pointed her to an empty box in the grange display line up. She fast-walked the rest of the way there. 

Elliott took a deep breath and straightened the vest he wore under his moth-eaten coat. Then he steeled himself and approached, a little cautious. The way she moved projected heightened nerves, tension held in her pin-straight back and jerky movements. 

“Katrionel?”

She jolted, half spinning with an enormous pumpkin in her hands. Her shoulders slumped once she registered who it was. “Elliott, hey. Sorry, I’m just-”

“A bit on edge?” he asked.

Laughter, maybe a bit unhinged, but he didn’t care. “You could say that.” She lifted the pumpkin a little bit. “So, uh… yeah. How’ve you been?” 

Near instantly a look crossed her face he couldn’t identify. She turned away again, placing the pumpkin down and making sure it was positioned just so.

“I’ve been well,” Elliott said. He crouched beside the backpack leaning against the table leg and checked inside, tugging out a large chunk of raw quartz. When she turned back towards him, he offered it to her; she took it with a startled smile. “Still working on the novel, though I suspect you’d already expected that.”

“I had an inkling.” She grinned down at him as he carefully handed her a carton of eggs, mixed white and brown. Next was a glass jar of honey that almost seemed to shimmer, labeled in scratchy cursive with “Fairy Rose”. A lobster followed, one big enough to make his mouth water. Katrionel snatched it from his hands, placing it on the grange display in a bed of ice. 

“If I win this, that’s dinner for us,” she said nonchalantly. 

“Sounds wonderful,” he said, before he could allow himself to overthink his reply. “I’d be pleased to take you up on it when you win.”

“Not ‘if’?” She glanced down again as she accepted the bottles of maple syrup and cranberry jelly, placing them side by side.

He smiled up at her, offering her first a yam, then a sunflower larger than his head. “I have every belief that you’ll handily take the prize home.” 

She offered him one hand; he took it, trying not to let butterflies build as she tugged him to his feet. “Thank you,” she said, with a soft smile. For the first time since he’d seen her that day, she looked at ease. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, nodding towards the picnic tables and grill on the plateau above town. “Gus is making burgers. All-you-can-eat and free of charge, as well.”

Her eyes sparked. “Lead the way.”

He did his best to distract her from the impending grange display judging. They ate burgers until Elliott felt stuffed to bursting, then went back down to the fair once more to explore the games and booths. They competed against each other in the fishing booth; Katrionel won, though barely. “A prize for the lady,” the booth runner said, giving an over-the-top bow as he offered Katrionel a handful of cheap tokens with raised stars in the center. 

“Thank you,” she said with a bobbed curtsey, accepting the tokens with grace. It was only after they turned and walked away that she murmured, “I have no idea what these are for.”

He chuckled, causing her to glance up at him. “They can be traded for prizes at the shop you ran past on your way in. The biggest prize is a stardrop, though I’m not certain of its legitimacy.” 

“Sounds worth a shot.” Katrionel pocketed the tokens and grinned at him. 

They parted ways for a while, her to visit friends and other booths and him to get more food. Gus’ burgers kept calling his name.

Time flew, and before he knew it Katrionel appeared at the top of the stairs into town again, unnaturally pale as she approached. He was on his feet before she was even close enough to speak. “Are you all right?”

“They’ve started the judging,” she said, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face with a hand that trembled. She nearly collapsed onto the bench beside him, leaning back against the table. 

“You’ve done everything you can,” he said softly, as soothing as possible. Before he could think better of it, he sat again and reached out, covered one of her hands with his. She looked over at him. He gave a reassuring smile. Then he leaned a little closer, lowered his voice. “And, between you and me -- I think you had the best display.”

She laughed a little. “You’re just saying that because it’ll make me feel better.”

“I would never lie to you.”

It came out a little more serious than he had expected. Evidently Katrionel hadn’t expected it either, because her head lifted and her eyes met his.

For a minute, there was silence between them. He felt frozen in place, her gaze holding him in place far better than any chains or weights could. 

Then a voice came from some distance away, down in the town. “Grange displays are judged! Results will be announced momentarily! Gather ‘round, gather ‘round!” 

Just like that, whatever trance held them in perfect stillness broke and they jolted apart again. “We should -- we should go down,” she said, glancing towards the town square. 

Elliott squeezed her hand, which he was still holding, and released as he stood up. “I’ll be right there with you.” 

Down they went; a crowd was assembling, a low, dull roar of noise as people chattered and laughed with each other. Katrionel took her place at the front of the crowd, hands twisting nervously. Elliott made to melt into the crowd, but she reached out and caught his sleeve before he could go too far.

“Stay close by?” she asked, and he was powerless against her pleading eyes. 

Mayor Lewis cleared his throat a few times before the crowd began to quiet. Elliott stood behind her, giving her space, but still close enough to reach out in comfort or celebration, no matter what happened.

“Everyone gave it their all this year,” Mayor Lewis began. “I found myself quite impressed with just how tough the competition was. However, we have to choose a winner, so let’s start with fourth place -- Willy!”

Elliott felt a sting of disappointment for the old mariner; he considered the man a friend, regardless of how rarely they saw each other. He clapped politely along with the rest of the crowd. Willy removed his hat for a moment and gave a half-bow, replacing it on his head with a rueful smile. 

“In third place, we have…” A slightly longer pause. “Marnie!”

More applause. Marnie smiled a little at Lewis, then the crowd, blushing at the praise. 

“Which leaves us with the final two contestants: Pierre’s General Store, and the newcomer to the contest, Sherman Farm.” Lewis cleared his throat. “And the first place winner is…”

He trailed off into silence; someone in the crowd started a drumroll. Katrionel stood completely still, frozen in place, staring at Lewis with one hand clutching her scarf, the other wrapped tight around her own waist.

“Sherman Farm!”

The townsfolk exploded into cheers; those visiting from out of town were more reserved with their applause, but Elliott heard essentially none of it. Katrionel had exploded into a ball of glee, bouncing up and down in place in a very un-adult-like fashion before she approached Mayor Lewis to accept her prize -- a blue ribbon and a shiny gold star token, worth one thousand tokens. She stayed long enough to shake his hand and thank him cordially. Then she spun to face him and darted forward.

“Congratulations,” was what Elliot meant to say, but abruptly he found himself with his arms full. Katrionel threw her arms around his neck, holding on tight as she laughed in sheer delight. For a moment, he was struck still in shock. Then he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, ignoring the way his back protested. She was sturdier than she looked -- he blamed hard work on the farm. 

“You did it,” he murmured in her ear. 

“You helped!” she said back, sliding from his grasp to land her feet firmly on the ground again. 

Only a few inches separated their faces. For a moment, for the second time that day, they were the only people in the world to Elliott. Her smile dimmed a little, eyes going wider with -- something. Some emotion he wasn’t completely sure of. 

He shook himself, straightening further and awkwardly patting her shoulder before releasing. “Congratulations,” he said finally. “You deserve it.” 

There was that bright, beaming smile again. “You helped,” she repeated. “And I believe I owe you a lobster dinner?”

Elliott laughed as she drew away again, almost immediately swallowed by a crowd of well-wishers. He didn’t mind. She shone like the sun, even amidst the crowd.

“When’s the weddin’?”

He jolted in place at the voice that came from nowhere. Willy stood beside him, looking between him and Katrionel with a cheeky grin.

“Sorry -- what?” he asked, uncertain if he’d misheard.

“Your weddin’. You’re head over heels and no mistake.”

Elliott had long since given up on trying to deny his feelings. He let out a soft sigh and turned away from the crowd to face Willy entirely. “There’s no wedding,” he said patiently. The older man had a penchant for saying things to get others riled up; there was no use giving in. “Because she doesn’t know how I feel, and she likely doesn’t feel the same.”

Willy cackled, seemingly unaffected by the glare sent his way. “Ah, you keep tellin’ yourself that, boy. I’ve heard it all before.” 

“Just… leave it alone, Willy.”

Elliott turned back just in time to catch Katrionel’s gaze through the throng of people. She gave him one of her most brilliant smiles, one he was helpless to do anything but return. 

Leah stood in the crowd near her, waiting to wish her well, he assumed. She caught the exchange and slowly, carefully shook her head and rolled her eyes.

* * *

He meant to go back to his cabin on the beach and brood, but Katrionel snagged his wrist before he could leave. “I know you’ve had a bunch to eat already, but if you can stand more, I’m starving and I mean to cook that lobster tonight in celebration. Half is yours, if you want it.”

“Tempting a man with his favorite food? That seems unfair,” Elliott said, giving her a rueful smile. 

She laughed. 

They walked back to her farm as night began to fall, crickets chirping and wind rustling the leaves scattered on the ground. Katrionel scuffed at a few drifts, crushing leaves under her feet. 

“Thank you again for your help,” she said as they walked.

“Of course,” he said. “It was nothing, really.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “It meant a lot to me.”

They fell into comfortable silence once more as they approached the entrance to the farm. The last time Elliott had been this near, there’d been an old wooden sign, half in pieces and painted letters scratched off almost entirely. Now the sign was brand new, fresh wood and paint declaring the gate the entrance to Sherman Farm. 

“Did you make this?” he asked, pointing at the sign as they passed it.

Katrionel grinned. “Yep! I thought it needed an update. The old one was a relic from Grandma’s time running the farm.”

“I thought it was your grandfather that owned the farm,” Elliott said as they approached the front porch. 

Katrionel fished keys from her pocket and unlocked the front door. “Eh -- ok, Winnie’s been locked up all day so she’ll be hyperactive,” she warned, and then pushed the door open.

He waited outside while she freed the corgi from her cage and sent her out the front door. Winnie raced right past him, launching off the front porch to barrel down the stairs and into the grass fields in front of the chicken coop. Katrionel returned, giggling as she watched the little dog run as fast as her legs would go.

“It was my grandmother and grandfather’s farm,” she said. “But Sherman Farm is matrilineal, or it has been, historically. Grandpa took Grandma’s last name when he married her, instead of the other way around. It was always Grandma’s farm.”

“Hm.” Elliott made a non-committal noise. “Everyone seems to think the farm was Wilson Sherman’s.”

Katrionel shrugged. “I see no reason to correct them. It’s none of their business.”

He laughed a little. “Most things in this town are.”

She acquiesced as Winnie returned, panting furiously with a doggie grin ear-to-ear on her face. Katrionel crouched, picked her up and tilted her head back to avoid a face-washing.

“Shall we go in?” she asked. “I’ve got a bottle of wine in there somewhere, and that lobster’s calling my name.”

Elliott greeted Winnie after they were inside, the corgi bouncing up and down like a pogo stick as she did her best to get to his face. Katrionel grinned as she moved around the tiny kitchen, pulling out a pot and filling it with water, putting it on the ancient stove and lighting the gas flame. While the water heated, she tugged on a cabinet door a few times, eventually managing to open it and produce a bottle of wine.

“A Sherman Farm special,” she said, setting it on the rickety table in the center of the room. “I just hope you don’t mind drinking wine out of a coffee cup.”

He couldn’t keep himself from laughing at that, approaching the table and pulling out one of the two chairs. “I do not,” he said. “A Sherman Farm special?”

“I made it myself,” she said. “Finally figured out how to make a keg and brewed up a few bottles of wine. That one…” She narrowed her eyes at the bottle from across the room. “I think that’s blueberry wine from the summer.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Elliott rose again. “Do you have a bottle opener?”

She pointed him to a drawer beside her. “In there. Mugs are in the cabinet directly above.” 

They worked in silence for a few minutes, him pouring the wine into two coffee mugs and her moving around the kitchen, pulling things from the fridge. He offered her one of the mugs, one printed with old-style flowers and a cursive label: “World’s Best Mom”. She laughed when she saw it, raising it high in a toast. 

“A gift from a friend?” he asked, gesturing to the mug with his own mug. 

“College gag gift.” She took a sip and closed her eyes. “Oh, that’s good. Better than I expected.”

Elliott raised one eyebrow as he tasted it himself. “You offered me wine you weren’t sure of?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds so horrible.” She shrugged. “I just hadn’t tried it myself yet. I’ve already had the cranberry wine, which is really good, but I figured this could be an experiment.”

“It appears to have paid off.” 

He offered to help after a few moments of silence; she set him to chopping vegetables for the sides. Winnie laid down directly behind the two of them as they stood side-by-side at the counter. It fell quiet again for a while. Then Katrionel jolted and stepped away from the pot. “One second.”

She quickly tapped away on her phone. After a minute or two, music began to play -- a sweet violin and a soft voice singing. She hummed along as she returned to the stove, stirring the water to keep it from boiling over. 

“Your favorite kind of music?” he asked.

“One of them. I’ll listen to a lot of different genres, I don’t have one favorite in particular.” She took another swig of wine from her coffee mug, then sang along softly in an unexpected alto, “She said I’m countin’ up my karma and I think it’s time to cash it in...” She gently hip-checked him, smiling up at him when he glanced down at her. 

It fell into silence again, except for the music playing in the background. She sang along every few lines, humming along when she wasn’t. Elliott spread the vegetables on a baking sheet as instructed, which then went into the oven below the stove. The lobster cooked away; one glass of wine turned into a second. Finally, Katrionel pulled the lobster from the boiling water and the vegetables from the oven. “Third glass?” she asked, lifting her almost empty mug. 

“That sounds wonderful.” Elliott pulled plates from the cabinet and helped her dish up dinner.

It was very late, by that point; night had fallen completely, enveloping the farm outside in darkness. Katrionel glanced out the window as she piled vegetables onto her plate and started. “Oh, Yoba, it’s so much later than I expected…”

“It’s not too bad.” He nodded to the sky. “It’s a full moon and a clear night. Walking home in this town isn’t as dangerous as it could be in the big city.”

“Agreed.” She nearly collapsed into her seat across from him; the chair creaked dangerously, but she didn’t appear to notice or care. “I can’t tell you how many times I walked to or from my apartment with pepper spray or my keys in my hand.”

They sat and talked about everything under the sun as they ate. The lobster was  _ wonderful _ . If he hadn’t known there was none left, he would’ve asked for seconds. More wine was poured and drank; the bottle was running dry. Winnie slept under Elliott’s feet, keeping him trapped in place for fear of waking her by moving his chair. 

Finally, Elliott glanced at the clock and started; it was already nearly midnight. “Heavens,” he murmured. “Is it already that late?”

Katrionel’s face fell. “Oh no… I’m so sorry. Will you be all right to walk home?”

“I should be.” But he’d had at least four glasses of wine, and while he could hold his alcohol, he wasn’t sure he would be able to make it home without falling at least once. He carefully pushed his chair back, rising to his feet. Winnie jolted to alertness and bounced up, dancing around his feet. 

He glanced at her; she was quiet, worrying her lip as she stared into her half-full mug of wine. “Are you all right?” he asked.

It almost appeared she was wrestling with something mentally, before taking another sip of wine. When the mug came down, she looked up at him, steel entering her pose. 

“You could stay the night. On the couch, I mean.”

His thoughts stuttered to a halt; he stared at her for a minute. Some of her courage appeared to fail, as her shoulders slumped and her head dropped. “Sorry,” she muttered after a moment. “Stupid question, I-”

“Are you certain?” 

Time slowed to a near halt. Elliott and Katrionel just looked at each other for what felt like forever. He felt like they were on the edge of a precipice, poised to tip and fall with the tiniest breath.

She nodded. 

* * *

He woke to a beam of sunlight shining directly in his eyes. For a moment, he could only blink and wince, throwing one arm over his eyes. He didn’t think he’d left the blinds open the night before, but perhaps he had and had just forgotten…

The smell of bacon met his nose as he took a deep breath, followed by creaking wood underfoot and soft humming. None of these were familiar, nor were they usual.

Elliott opened his eyes, blinking a few times in the bright sun. There was the sound of something tapping rapidly on the wooden floorboards, before something nudged his elbow. He looked over. Winnie sat on the hardwoods, staring at him with that corgi smile.

“Look out,” the woman said, and the dog lunged for him, planting her front paws on his arm and licking everything she could reach. He sputtered, pushing her away as gently as he could as he sat up. A blanket fell down to pool around his waist. “I guess you’re awake now, huh?”

“Indeed.” His voice rasped from sleep; he cleared his throat as he stood, brushing off the wrinkles in his shirt. “Does she do that every morning?”

“No. She’s in her crate overnight. Around 6 am, she starts whining and that’s my signal to get up and started with the day.”

The thought of waking at 6 am every morning made him wince. He stretched, glancing at the hearth and the fire in it, before turning towards the kitchen and stopping dead. 

Katrionel stood in the kitchen, hair up in a messy bun and oversized t-shirt hanging off her form. She was barefoot, but her feet were almost entirely hidden by the overly-long sweatpants she wore. She stood over a skillet on the stove, poking at its contents with a spatula.

“Do me a favor?” she asked absently, glancing over at him for a moment. Their eyes met; she smiled. “Start the coffee maker? I have a feeling I’m gonna need it today.”

He laughed softly, crossing the cabin to fiddle with the coffee pot. “And the coffee would be…?”

She pointed with the spatula to the cabinet directly in front of his face. “Hope you like bacon and eggs,” she continued, turning back to the stove. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” he assured her, measuring ground coffee into the filter and placing it in the top half of the coffee machine. “Did you sleep well?”

For an answer, she yawned wide. “Pretty well. I’m wiped -- six hours was nowhere near enough time to sleep.”

“I presume naptime isn’t often on your schedule.”

She laughed softly. “You’d be right. It’s rare, especially given how much I have to do on the farm.”

“Even after all the work you did to prepare for the fair?” He closed the lid and flipped the switch to turn the coffee maker on.

She nodded, flipped a piece of bacon. “Even then.” A wry smile over one shoulder as the coffee pot began to chug away. “I’m used to it now. Let me tell you, it was a struggle last spring.”

“I can’t imagine.” Elliott found two more coffee mugs, both clearly old and well loved (he personally liked the one that said “Feeling Corgeous” with a corgi that looked eerily like Winnie). “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black, one sugar. Sugar cubes are there.” She pointed to a brown ceramic bowl with a lid shaped like an acorn cap. “You?”

“Ah -- a splash of milk and two sugars.”

“Milk is in the fridge.”

She plated breakfast as he poured coffee, handing her the corgi mug with a smile. She laughed when she saw it, glancing down at Winnie at her feet. “Yes, you are always feeling corgeous, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

Winnie bounced around and yipped once, high pitched enough to hurt his ears. 

Conversation picked up smoothly from where it’d left off the night before, Elliott describing a sub-plot he was considering including, Katrionel explaining what she hoped to accomplish on the farm over the swiftly-approaching winter. 

It was as he sipped his mug of coffee, sufficiently cooled and plate of breakfast diminished to crumbs, and watched her animated explanations, that an idle thought floated across his mind. Idle, perhaps, but dangerous to an extreme.

_ I could get used to this. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious about the song, it's OneRepublics "Wanted", more specifically their string cover, which also gave the title for this story. It's a truly fantastic song and the string cover always lifts my spirits, if you want to have a listen.


	6. Fall, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinking spirits and a celebration of those gone to buoy them.

Elliott trailed one hand over the keys on the piano; a few notes played, descending lower and lower. It rather mirrored his current mood, he thought, as his shoulders slumped.

There was nothing else to do, really. It had been days since he’d last seen Katrionel; he’d excused himself, a bit embarrassed, after finishing breakfast. He hadn’t left his cabin since then. There was rain pouring outside, when he glanced at the window behind him overlooking the beach; he didn’t fancy going out in the wet just to stand on a dock and stare at the gnashing waves. He couldn’t stand to even look at his novel.

So he tugged the seat out a little further and sat, placing both hands on the keys. Scales first, to warm up both his hands and his memory. It didn’t take long before the amount of missed keys and uncertainty faded into nothing.

Then a deep breath, and Elliott began to play.

He started with the simple songs, the ones he very vaguely remembered from childhood – sitting at the bench with his mother, watching her point to the notes on the page, then the keys below. It was a struggle to reach from one key to the next on some of the larger jumps. Now his fingers had trouble fitting into the space they had to fill, the edges of his thumb and pinky nearly tripping the key adjacent to the one he wanted to tap.

He kept playing, moving on to the more complex, complicated melodies. The music drowned nearly everything out – the rain outside, the roiling emotions in his head, the knock at the door-

“Come in!” he called, not looking up from the keys. It was likely one of two people; he didn’t have that many townsfolk that visited him on a regular basis.

He was about three-quarters through a song, fingers flying as he ran through the final few stanzas and came to a close with a final chord. It rang on and on, drawn out as his hands refused to lift from the keys for first one, then two, then three beats too long. Finally he drew away, resting his hands on his thighs and turning to see who’d come in.

Katrionel was in the process of pushing her hood back from her head, allowing her mess of ash blonde hair to fall around her shoulders. Her gaze was fixed on him, he found, as he met her eyes. “That was lovely,” she said, running one hand over her hair. “Where’d you learn how to play?”

“When I was very young,” Elliott said quietly. He gestured to the chair pulled up at his writing desk; she walked it over to sit near him. “My mother taught me.”

“That’s nice of her,” Katrionel said. She seemed to understand the mood he was in; her voice didn’t rise beyond a low murmur. “I see you’ve kept up with it, too.”

He huffed an amused noise. “Not nearly as much as she’d wish, I suspect.” Back to the keys he went; he picked at a few of them, tapping out a simple melody.

She was silent for a moment, watching his hands when he glanced over at her. “Is everything all right?” she asked finally, gaze lifting to his face.

Elliott lifted his chin to smile at her, opened his mouth for reassurance, but no words came out. His smile wouldn’t come. He closed his mouth after a moment, looked down at the keyboard again.

A smaller, tanned hand reached out and covered one of his. “Elliott?” Katrionel prompted. A pause; then, hastily, “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to-”

“No, no.” Elliott sighed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the keys and his head in his hands. He ignored the discordant clash of noise.

“That bad, hm?” There was a hint of good humor in her voice. Katrionel sat back in the chair, ignoring the rather dangerous creaking noise it made as she did so. “What’s happened?”

“What hasn’t?” he asked bitterly. “I still can’t come up with a satisfactory ending to my novel. I’m beginning to run low on funds – I had savings when I came here, that’s how I’m renting this cabin from the town. I’m beginning to doubt whether or not I’m cut out to be a writer. What else could possibly happen?”

“Never present the universe with a challenge,” she said. “I’ve found it loves to take you up on them.” A deep sigh, and Katrionel leaned forwards again, callused fingers wrapping around his wrist.

Elliott removed his hands from his face and looked over at her. His gray eyes met her strange blue-purple ones. Today he couldn’t tell which color was overriding the other; they blended together in near perfect harmony.

She was solemn as she said, “You can do this. I’ve read your writing, remember? It’s very, very good. A publisher would have to be a fool to turn you down.”

“But I can’t even find a way to publish it,” he said, pushing away from the bench and standing up. The fire crackled behind him; he approached, tossed another chunk of wood in. “I know no one, know nothing about it. What happens if I ever finish it? Will I finish it in time to stay here? If I don’t, I’ll have to return to my family in disgrace.”

“Would it really be that bad?” Katrionel asked. She moved to stand behind his comfy chair, leaning on the back of it as she watched him. “Would they be so upset with that?”

He shrugged, listless. “Who knows? All my siblings are successful in their fields. I’m the only one left. Mother always said she would love me no matter what, but…”

“You can’t help but wonder.”

The sound of her voice lingered in the air. He didn’t turn to look at her, entranced by the fire.

A few hesitant steps, and two arms wrapped around his stomach from behind. He straightened, startled, but Katrionel didn’t let go. He felt her forehead rest against his back, between his shoulderblades.

“You will be fine,” she pronounced, brooking no argument. “You’re smart, and wise, and you’ve got a great imagination. You’ve got people that’ll support you here, and I bet your parents will love you no matter if you finish this novel or not.”

He heard her, but it was a bit hard to comprehend. He’d thought the fire warm, but every point she touched him burned. One hand rose, hesitated; then rested over the point her hands joined.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hardly able to breathe.

They stood like that for a moment, him savoring the moment, her inscrutable as always. Then, after a time, she drew away. He mourned her proximity even as he turned to face her entirely.

“Sorry,” she said, with an embarrassed little shrug. “I’m a hugger. I know some people aren’t, though, so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” he hastily reassured her. “I… needed it, I believe.”

“Still not getting out much?” There was the humor he was so used to seeing.

“Not of late. I’ve been rather busy with  _ that _ ,” and he gestured to the piles of paper scattered about his desk and floor.

“Need some help?” she asked.

A long, weary sigh. “I’m afraid writing is rather the last thing I’d like to do right now. Some other time. I require a break.” He glanced at Katrionel, feeling a smile tug his lips up. “You know, I’ve considered tossing this whole ‘novelist’ idea out the window and just becoming a farmer, like yourself.”

She laughed at that, eyes sparkling merrily. “You could move in on the farm with me, then. I could use the help!”

He would consider it a miracle if his face wasn’t as red as he thought it was. “I- ah, thank you, um, for the… generous offer, but I-”

Katrionel burst out laughing. “It’s fine!” she said, grinning ear to ear at him. “I’m sorry, it’s just- I’ve never heard you sound so flustered in the entire time I’ve known you. I guess it was kind of abrupt, wasn’t it? Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Elliott said, desperately searching for a way out. “Uh- would you like some tea? I can put the kettle on, I’m sure you’re quite chilled from your jaunt through the rain to come here.”

“Tea would be wonderful,” Katrionel said with a sigh. She sank into his comfy chair, toeing her rain boots off in front of the fire. “I’m a little cold, so I’ll warm up here, if you don’t mind doing it by yourself…?”

“Not at all.” And while he waited, he could take the time to compose himself once more.

Yoba help him, but she would be the death of him.

* * *

Before he knew it, it was Spirit’s Eve, and he was tugging the old ragged vampire costume out of his closet. He’d worn it last year; so far from the city, it wasn’t easy to get a different costume and he hadn’t had the funds to purchase a new one and have it shipped to his address. 

So he pulled on his old costume and walked up to town, ducking beneath waving branches. He could hear the normal hustle and bustle that accompanied any of the major events the town held ahead in the town square. A few paces more, and he strode across the bridge to the beach and into the fray. 

His first stop was the keg of Gus’ famous pumpkin ale. One mug to start the night off right; he took a swig and sighed at the flavor.

“Delicious, as always.” He toasted Gus, tending the food and drinks as always. 

“Many thanks!” Gus beamed at him. “Here, have a plate -- it’s all on the house.” 

Elliott accepted the food, balancing it in one hand and his mug of ale in the other. There were a few tables with chairs on one side of the square. He made his way over to an empty seat and sat.

It just happened that Robin and Sebastian were sitting there as well, though Sebastian quickly excused himself with a nod to Elliott. The younger man was aloof and cold, but not unkind as he walked towards the hedge maze at the plateau above town. 

“Hey, Elliott.” Robin’s eyes crinkled as she looked over at him. She was dressed in plaid with an axe leaning against her chair; absently, he hoped the blade was blunted. “How have you been?”

He swallowed the bite of crab cake before answering. “Well, thank you, ma’am.”

She scoffed. “Don’t worry about calling me ma’am. What have you been up to? You’re a writer, right?”

He nodded, unsure where she was leading with this. “I am, yes.”

“That’s an interesting career. How’s it been going for you?” She dug into the plate of spaghetti in front of her.

“It’s been going well, thank you.” He focused on his plate, cringing at the awkward conversation and wishing for a way out.

“Hello!” a faint voice called from the north of town, and he glanced over just in time to see a phantom glide in from the road to Sherman Farm.

At least, that was his first impression: gray rags trailing from a tattered frock, long white hair left loose in the fall wind, moving fast towards a clump of townspeople standing in front of the entrance to the maze. It took him a moment to realize the hair wasn’t white, it was ashen, and the woman in the dress was none other than Katrionel. 

“Going to go say hi?”

Elliott glanced over at Robin. One eyebrow quirked nearly to her forehead as she grinned at him. Somehow he wasn’t surprised she knew as well. 

“She’s preoccupied,” he said, turning back to the table and reaching for his mug of pumpkin ale. He took a deep swig. “She’ll come say hi whenever she wants to.” 

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked around a meatball.

He put the mug down perhaps a little harder than he intended to. “Why does everyone seem to think we’re in a relationship?” he snapped. “We aren’t, in case anyone was going to bother to ask before assuming. She is very busy with her farm, and I with my writing.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” she said, soft. She put her fork down, watching him with unreadable eyes. “I’m sorry if I pushed too hard. There isn’t much to gossip about in a small town, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Believe me, I had,” Elliott said grimly. He stabbed at the last piece of crab cake on his plate. “It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“It can be frustrating,” Robin agreed. She paused, looking out into the distance with a faraway look in her eyes. “I remember when I got my divorce -- it turned the town upside down. All they could talk about for weeks. It was just as bad when Demetrius and I got engaged.”

“I can’t imagine.” He truly couldn’t. The rumor mill was terrible enough when nothing had happened. How much worse could it get with meat behind the gossip? 

Robin turned back towards him, with a faint smile. “I’ve survived it, which is why I know you’ll survive it too.”

“Even when there’s nothing there to gossip about?”

“Maybe there’s more there than you think,” she said cryptically, before brightening. “Kat! Look at you, you look wonderful!”

Elliott startled as a hand landed on his shoulder; Katrionel had approached without him noticing. She beamed at Robin over his shoulder as he looked up at her. This close, he could see the pale makeup lightening her complexion to near paper white, lending her an even more ghostly visage. “Hello! Ok, let me guess -- you’re a lumberjack?” 

“How’d you know?” Robin didn’t seem to mind at how fast Katrionel had figured it out, though. “And you are…?”

“You’ve got to guess first.” Katrionel stepped away; Elliott felt the loss of her hand like a frigid wind through him. She spun in a circle, rags sewn onto her dress fluttering as she twirled. This close he could also see a tattered gray shawl wrapped around her shoulders -- still precious little protection against the late autumn chill. 

“A ghost?” Robin suggested. 

“Not quite, but on that track.” Katrionel came to a stop, dress fluttering around her. Elliott eyed her critically, putting aside his feelings to search for any spectres he knew of that may fit her. 

“I confess, I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said when she looked at him, still beaming.

A momentary pout, but she soon brightened again. “I’m a banshee!” she said, spinning once more. “Perhaps not quite as scary as one, but that’s what I was aiming for.”

“Ah, I can see it now,” Elliott said, and he truly could -- though for a banshee, she was unusually bright and cheerful. 

“I spent all day working on it,” she said, swirling to watch the fabric strips sway with her. “My crops are on their way out -- they can’t handle this weather, so I had more time than I expected.” She looked up. “Do you like it?”

“Of course,” Elliott said without hesitation. “You look wonderful.”

Another beaming smile, one that took his breath away. “And let me guess, you’re a vampire?”

“Indeed I am.” He scooted his chair back and stood, spreading his arms wide. “I assume the cloak gave me away?”

“Yep! Though it took me a moment to figure out you’d dressed up at all.” 

He was almost offended, but then he saw the laughter just waiting in her eyes and smiled ruefully. “It is mostly composed of parts of my everyday wear, yes.”

“But the cloak’s new. I like it.” She reached out and brushed at the collar. “You’ve, uh, got a little lint there, sorry.” 

“Thank you.” This close he was able to watch her face as she worked, brow furrowed, to clean his collar. In so much white and gray, her eyes shone even brighter blue-purple, stark against pale skin. He could smell the scent of perfume -- something light and floral, faint enough to just drift away on the barest hint of a breeze.

Then she smiled and stepped back again. “Is there pumpkin ale here? Gus mentioned it to me last time I was at the saloon and I’ve been itching to try some.”

“There is.” Elliott offered her his elbow before he could stop himself. “Allow me to escort you there?”

She took his arm with a merry laugh that filled the square and turned heads, and he absently thought perhaps she was a different kind of banshee -- one that brought laughter and joy instead of wailing and sorrow.

* * *

At some point in the evening, Katrionel had vanished into the depths of the haunted maze at the top of the staircase, and Elliott returned to his seat to drink his fourth -- or maybe fifth, he wasn’t sure -- mug of pumpkin ale. Robin had vacated the table after she finished eating; he’d waved goodbye to her, deep into his mug by that point. He’d said his hellos to everyone he cared about and now chose to reflect on the brief conversation he’d had at the beginning of the night.

The fair thing to do, he thought, was to let her go. The last thing he wanted to do was throw her to the mercy of the town gossips -- which was everyone, truth be told. Including himself in some capacity. The thought made him throw back the rest of his mug and go for yet another -- was that his sixth or seventh? He wasn’t quite sure. 

The night grew colder, but he didn’t really feel it, warmed by the alcohol he’d ingested. Eventually he shrugged out of his cloak, then his coat, draping both over the back of his chair as he stared moodily into his mug. It wasn’t fair to subject her to the same whispers he’d already been put through. No -- better to let her alone to live her life free of the dramatics.

“Elliott?”

As if his thinking of her had summoned him, her voice filled the air around him, and a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Though he still wore his nicest silk shirt, the heat of her hand penetrated through it as if there was nothing between them at all. He flushed at the mere thought.

“Heavens -- you’re burning up. How much have you had to drink?” Her hand vanished, and he mourned its loss, but it quickly reappeared pressed against his forehead.

“Seven mugs?” he said, lifting his mug. “It’s excellent ale, have you had any?”

“I have,” she said. The hand moved to his arm and began tugging up. “I think you’ve had enough, though. Time for you to go home.”

He stood slowly, weaving in place as he tried to find his feet. Katrionel steadied him. “Come on, then. This way. Don’t forget your cloak. Or your coat.”

Elliott grabbed both articles of clothing obediently and draped them over his free arm. The other still wrapped around Katrionel’s shoulders; he tried to free it, but immediately wobbled in his search for balance. “Nope, nope, nope, hey-” Hands grabbed his arm again and tugged it back into place. “Just lean on me.”

“I don’t wish to injure you.” He shuffled his feet in the direction she tugged him. 

“You won’t. I’m sturdy enough, I can take it.” They walked in silence for a few moments. Then she asked, “Do you normally celebrate Spirit’s Eve so hard?”

“Not usually.” Elliott tried to think of the last time he’d been this drunk; nothing came to mind. “I… really like the pumpkin ale.” 

“I figured.” The sound of their footsteps changed, from grass to stone. “You do realize Gus has pumpkin ale in the week or so leading up to Spirit’s Eve at the Saloon, right? Don’t have to drink your year’s fill all at once.”

“It’s e’spensive.” Elliott cleared his throat and tried again. “Expensive, excuse me.”

Katrionel was laughing, though. “No worries. You’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning, though.”

“I haven’t had a hangover before,” he confessed. “Don’t think I can get them.” 

“That’s what everyone thinks before they have a hangover,” she said dryly. “Trust me, I’ve said that exact sentence before.” 

Elliott looked up at the sky -- at least he meant to. It was less of a look, and more of a “loll”. If he squinted, he could make out clouds drifting by overhead, obscuring the bright stars on occasion. 

“What really brought this on?” Katrionel asked softly, as the ground turned to sand beneath their feet. “Did I say something?”

“What?” He was momentarily stunned, coming to a complete halt. Katrionel stopped short beside him. “Why d’you ask?” 

She shrugged, stepping a little further away so his arm wasn’t around her shoulders. He mourned the loss of her presence. “I got there and said hi, and then you showed me to the food and after that every time I looked at you, you had a fresh mug of ale in your hands.” 

Elliott stared down at her, momentarily speechless. Her eyes were wide, expression vulnerable though she pressed her lips together hard and didn’t flinch away. Without his permission, one had drifted up to cradle her cheek, light as a feather’s touch.

“You could never say  _ anything  _ to upset me like that,” he said, making sure to enunciate clearly. It was important, so important, that she understood this. “It was nothing you said.” 

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He tried his best to memorize her eyes, they way they looked right then, dark in the night but lit by a sliver of moonlight. With her costume, she looked like a true phantom of the night. 

Then his damned legs wobbled under him, and Katrionel hastened to catch him before he could fall. “Nearly there now,” she said. “Just a little further and you’ll be home. Do you need my help getting ready for bed-”

“I can handle it,” he said hastily. “Don’t trouble yourself -- go back and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“I think it’s wrapping up,” she admitted, somewhat rueful. “They were starting to break down tables when we left. I’m just going to go straight home after this.”

They stopped at his front door; he released her shoulders once more and leaned against the door frame for a moment. The world was doing it’s level best to spin round and round him like someone had put him inside a top and spun it. “Will you be all right?”

“It’s Pelican Town,” Katrionel said with a shrug. “I don’t know that there’s a safer place in the world.”

She shivered as a wind whistled in off the ocean, rubbing her arms. Before he could overthink it, he dragged his coat from his arm and stepped forwards, flicking it out to wrap around her. “At least wear this? It ought to keep you warm for a little while.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure she’d accept it. Then she hesitantly took the lapels from him and tugged them a little tighter around herself. “It’s pretty chilly,” she admitted. “Thank you, Elliott.”

He meant to say “of course”, but what came out was “Anything.” 

She didn’t flinch, like he’d half expected -- make some stammered excuse and dart in the opposite direction, thrust his coat back into his hands with a disgusted look on her face. Instead she smiled, just a little, and reached out to squeeze his arm. “Sleep well,” she told him, and then she was gone, a swirl of grays and whites and the dark ruby red of his coat.

He watched her until he could see nothing of her. Then he ducked into his house to stumble about getting ready for bed and collapse into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The final day of fall was, for him, miserable.

Katrionel was right -- he’d woken with a raging headache that pounded every time he so much as considered moving. Eventually he dragged himself out of bed and staggered to the kitchen to reheat leftovers for breakfast and brew some coffee -- typically he preferred tea, but on a day like that one, he needed something stronger. After draining a full cup, he sat down at his typewriter, but not a single word would come to him. 

He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. It was the same as always: old knotted boards nailed together, broad beams spanning the entire cottage. It also provided no inspiration. 

Elliott let out a weary groan and stood back up, walking to the fireplace and poking at the wood inside. It collapsed in on itself with a shower of sparks. 

“What to do,” he wondered out loud. “What to do…”

Well, there would be no writing today. He cast a weary look at the typewriter, then turned towards the door.

Of course, that’s when he realized he didn’t have a coat, since he’d given it to Katrionel to walk home in.

And that let in a wave of memories from the night before. He immediately groaned aloud and covered his face with both hands. Yoba, he needed to get a grip on himself -- how embarrassing, both for him and Katrionel. He’d just decided to try to step back, let her live without looming over her, and yet here he was, having thrown himself at her like… like-

A knock at the door disturbed his musings. “Who is it?” he called, turning towards the door. He half expected Leah, come to tease him for his behavior the night previous.

“Katrionel. May I come in?”

He froze solid, staring blankly at the door. One moment ticked by, then two.

“Ah- come in!” he called hastily, when he realized it had been far too long for a normal response.

The door clicked, then pushed open. Katrionel poked her head in. “Are you all right? If you aren’t feeling well, I can come by later...?”

“Oh -- no, no, it’s quite all right.” Elliott gave her a wan smile. “Come in.” 

She stepped inside, shivering as she pulled the door closed behind her. “Winter’s moving in early,” she said. “It’s really cold out there.”

She wasn’t dressed warmly enough -- a thin jacket zipped up to her chin and a thick scarf wound round and round her neck. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, no hat to restrain the multiple flyaways wafting about. 

“Do you not have anything warmer to wear?” Elliott gestured her closer to the fire, turning towards the kitchen. “I believe I still have some coffee -- would you like a mug?”

“Oh, no, I can’t stay too long.” Katrionel gave him an apologetic smile, shuffling closer and extending her hands to the crackling flames. “I’m planning to go scope out the mines some more. There’s a new area I discovered a few weeks ago -- with winter coming up, I’m planning to go exploring just about every day.”

Alarm spiked. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I can take care of myself. Sorry -- I don’t mean to monopolize your time. I just wanted to swing by and drop this off.”

She slung her backpack off her shoulder and knelt in front of the fireplace, digging through the contents. A soft hum of approval, and she tugged a bundle of fabric from within.

It took Elliott a minute to realize the fabric was actually his coat. She stood and shook it out, offering it to him. “I took a look and realized your coat had a bunch of holes in it, so I did my best to repair it. I hope that wasn’t too presumptive?”

He took a few steps forward and accepted the coat, speechless. The tiny hole at the elbow was gone, patched expertly with near-perfect matching thread. A few of the more moth-eaten spots were entirely invisible now. It didn’t look brand new, but it looked far better than it had before. 

“You… did this?” Elliott asked softly, turning the coat over in his hands. “For me?”

“Of course.” Katrionel shoved her hands into her pockets. “It was the least I could do. Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“Of course,” he echoed. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled a little. “No need to say anything.”

She grabbed her backpack and swung it over her shoulder again. He was still speechless, staring at the coat. Before she made it to the door, he looked up. “Ah -- one moment.”

She turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“I… wanted to apologize. For anything I may have said last night that was… offensive, or hurtful.”

He hardly dared to look up, but steeled himself. When he did, his eyes immediately locked with hers. 

“You said nothing of the sort,” she said softly, with a little smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

His shoulders sagged despite himself; he let out a sigh of sheer relief. “Good,” he said. “I… remember most of it, but... I’m afraid my drinking got a bit away from me.” 

“I could tell.” Her smile widened. “But then there’s not many chances to really cut loose around here, so I don’t blame you.”

Heat crawled up his neck to his cheeks. “Still. I shouldn’t have gotten so… carried away. Thank you for helping me home.”

“You’re welcome.” She waved as she reached the door, but paused before she opened it. “It may be a little bit too cold to meet on the bridge, but… um, I like meeting up with you and talking, so…” A shallow breath. “If there’s anywhere else you want to meet up on occasion…?”

He hardly dared to hope. “Ah -- I occasionally go to the library to read or edit?” he suggested. “It’s rather warm in the winter and… cozy.” 

Perhaps that was too suggestive. He opened his mouth to walk it back.

“That sounds wonderful.” 

He stopped dead, snapped his jaw shut again. Katrionel smiled at him.

“Same time, different place?”

“Certainly.” He smiled, unwilling to risk saying something else and making her change her mind. “Best of luck on your expedition into the mines.”

“Thanks!” She waved, then pulled the door open. A chilly wind whistled in; she shivered. “Ugh. All right, see you later!”

She was gone before he could reply. The door shut hard behind her.

He was left to stand in stunned silence. One minute ticked by, then two. Finally he shook himself and lifted his coat higher, searching for the moth-eaten spots he knew had been present. Most were gone, all except the biggest ones that needed proper patches. 

As he turned it over to look at the back, he caught a whiff of something light, floral. He recognized it as the same perfume or scent she’d worn the night before. It took everything in him not to bury his face in the cloth and inhale until his lungs could hold no more.

Regardless of the distance between himself and the coat, the scent infiltrated his consciousness, filling his head. He closed his eyes, envisioning a field of flowers under a brilliant sun… 

And like lightning out of a clear blue sky, he knew how to end his novel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather long chapter for you this week. Thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and kind words; I appreciate all of them greatly.
> 
> And now, onto winter...


	7. Winter, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Completion, and realization.

Days slipped by without his noticing, as invested as he was in his typewriter. Pages piled up on the floor beside his chair. He paused occasionally to spread out the pages, look for typos, give himself a break from sitting in the same position all the time. He ate only when his stomach reminded him, slept when he could keep his eyes open no longer.

Finally, what felt like hours but was likely days after he’d discovered the path to the ending, he typed the final two words: “The End.”

He ejected the piece of paper from the typewriter and stared at it, almost uncomprehending. The cabin was strangely quiet; his ears rang from the lack of clacking typewriter keys. 

It was done.

Well, the first draft was done.

But… it was  _ done. _

He had to resist the urge to laugh aloud. Finally, after months of pulling his hair out, pacing back and forth, sleepless nights and uncertainty he couldn’t bring himself to admit to anyone, he held the end of his completed novel in both hands. 

He wanted to tell someone. 

He wanted to tell one specific person.

First, he needed a break.

He ate something substantial, took a shower and dried his hair completely, ran a load of laundry through the tiny washer-dryer combo situated between his kitchen and living area. Once he felt more lively and alert, he carefully stacked his novel -- his novel! -- into a single pile, tied with twine in a tight knot. He tugged on his newly-repaired coat, picked up his novel, and stepped outside.

And promptly had to step back inside, because while he’d been preoccupied writing, winter had arrived with a vengeance.

Elliott shivered as he placed his novel back down on the table and opened his armoire, digging into the depths in a search for his winter gear. Eventually he found his gloves and a scarf, then a thick woolen toboggan hat. All put on and novel securely tucked inside his coat to avoid the swirling snowy winds, he took a deep breath and stepped back out into the frigid weather.

It was marginally warmer with his full winter getup, thank Yoba, but he still hastened across the beach and headed towards the museum and library in town.

Thankfully, someone had shoveled the sidewalks in town. He crossed the bridge carefully, keeping an eye out for ice -- he’d made that mistake last winter, and never again. Then he turned right, walking briskly past the mayor’s house and his beat-up pickup truck to cross the second bridge. The library loomed large ahead of him; he couldn’t help but walk a little faster, trusting the bridge to be cleared like the pathways behind him.

He’d not seen a single soul in town; perhaps it was just too cold for most people. Truth be told, he couldn’t blame them, especially with the addition of winter winds and snow. On a still day, perhaps he’d be able to stand it better. As it was, he nearly crashed against the front door of the library, breath creating clouds as he panted. 

Gunther raised an eyebrow at him as he stepped inside, tugging the cap from his head and running his hand over his hair to smooth down flyaways. “It’s been a while,” he said by way of greeting.

“It has.” Elliott smiled, a little embarrassed. “I’m very sorry, I’ve been quite busy.” He wanted to produce his novel from beneath his coat as proof, but held himself back. He knew exactly who he wanted to tell first, before letting the rest of the town know.

“Hm.” Gunther appeared somewhat skeptical, but didn’t press further. “She’s here, if you’re looking for her. Been in almost every day since the start of winter. I think she’s been waiting for you.”

Elliott felt his face warm in a manner which had nothing to do with the weather outside. Truly, he needed to control himself better. Gunther rarely left the library and museum, yet somehow even he was aware of the rumors surrounding them.

“Thank you,” he said meekly instead, and hastened further into the library.

Penny was there, seated at a low table with Jas and Vincent. She caught his eye and smiled, waving just a little, but no more. She was teaching, he figured, and besides, both children were reading. Vincent reading of his own accord was beyond a rare sight in town.

He carefully walked behind the bookshelves between Gunther’s desk and the children, craning his neck to search for her. There was a glimpse of ashen-blonde, swirling over cream; long legs tucked beneath her, nose buried in a book. He stepped around the shelves and paused, just for a moment.

Katrionel had curled herself into a ball in one of the comfy chairs the library boasted. She was immersed in the book in her hands, reading voraciously. She wore the warmest knit sweater he’d ever seen in a soft cream color; if he wasn’t mistaken, she’d taken her boots off and was wearing fuzzy socks. Her hair was loose around her shoulders in gentle waves. A strand fell in front of her eyes; she brushed it out of the way without even looking. For a moment, he just watched her. 

Then Gunther cleared his throat noisily behind him, and before he could turn and glare, Katrionel looked up. He was entirely unprepared to watch her face brighten, as if the sun had decided to emerge from the overwhelming cloud cover overhead. “Elliott!” she said, putting her book aside on the arm of the chair and shoving herself to her feet. “I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten about our agreement.”

Elliott gave her an apologetic smile, approaching so they could speak softer and not disturb the children on the other side of the bookcases. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “I rather found myself inspired and had to follow it as far as it would take me.”

“And just how far did it take you?” She grinned up at him as he stopped in front of her. 

“Well…”

He reached into his coat, eyes glued to her face. There would never be another chance to see her reaction to this event, and he intended to absorb every minute moment of it. 

“It’s finished.”

First there was incomprehension; Katrionel stared at the parcel in his hands, the beginnings of a frown bending her eyebrows down. Then there was the lightbulb moment: something clicked, and her eyes went wide. Awe crossed her face. Her mouth fell open slightly, still staring. She had yet to blink even once when her eyes flicked to his face, and a beaming smile spread across her own.

A flurry of movement, where he found his vision obscured by a mess of blonde hair and an unexpected weight hanging off his neck. “Elliott, that’s wonderful!” she said, right in his ear as she hugged him. He reflexively wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her from falling, nearly crushing his novel between them as he hugged her back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. On a whim, he spun around once, buried his face in her shoulder and allowed himself the rare chance to grin ear-to-ear. Her laughter was the best music he’d heard.

Someone coughed pointedly as he came to a stop and she slipped from his arms. He glanced over one shoulder to find Gunther giving them both a look. “Sorry,” Katrionel said sheepishly, but her attention snapped back to him almost before the word was out of her mouth. “That’s fantastic! No wonder you weren’t around!”

“I figured it out just after you left, that last day of fall,” he confessed. She towed him over to the reading nook she’d been sitting in and pointed him to the chair opposite hers. He nearly fell into it, placing the stack of papers on the table between them. “It’s all there.”

“Wow,” she breathed, reaching out to drag her fingertips over the cover page. “A whole novel. And you typewrote it, too. That’s a feat in and of itself.” Mischief danced behind her eyes when he glanced at her. “Maybe behind the times, but then that could be said of your entire aesthetic, so…”

“What’s wrong with my aesthetic?” Elliott asked, looking down at his outfit anxiously. 

“Absolutely nothing.” She winked playfully at him as she tugged his novel to her and plopped it on her lap. Deft fingers untied the twine and lifted the paper free. “Sorry, I just… I want to see it.”

“Of course.” 

He watched her fingers ghost over the pages, placing the cover page aside and trailing one finger down the first few lines. “Who knows?” she asked absently, half-absorbed already.

“You,” he said simply.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

Katrionel’s gaze snapped up to lock with his. For a moment, she was positively speechless.

“I finished it just this morning. You were the first person I told.” He paused, then amended, “That I wanted to tell.”

She was absolutely silent as she stared at him, blue-purple eyes so wide he could see white all the way around the irises. “You…” she started, then shook her head a little and stared at the paper in her lap. “You told… me? First?”

“Of course.” He wasn’t sure why she was so shell-shocked; to him, at least, she was the obvious choice, his school-yard crush notwithstanding. “You’ve been there since the beginning. You put the idea in my head to begin with. It only made sense.”

She looked up at him again, and he was gobsmacked to see tears brimming in her eyes. Katrionel hastened to wipe them away with the sleeve of her sweater, laughing a little. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just… I had no idea. I guess I really should have, but… wow. It’s such an honor.”

“It’s nowhere near finished,” he warned. “It’s only the first draft. It needs editing, there’s certainly plot holes that must be patched, I haven’t even begun to consider query letters to agents or publishing houses-”

“But it’s done.”

Elliott let out a long, slow sigh. “But it’s done.”

They let quiet fill the air around them; Katrionel slowly flipped through the manuscript, Elliott content to just observe her. Finally, as she traced a finger over a coffee stain on one of the pages of the first chapter, she said, “So what happens after?”

“After?” 

“After you’re published. What will you do?” 

He paused to consider it, still watching her. She was maybe just a little too tense to be casual, a little too focused on the page in front of her.

“Originally, I had intended to leave,” Elliott confessed. “But now… now I’m not so sure.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He settled further into his chair with a sigh, stretching both legs out in front of him. “Well, the town has its charm,” he deflected. “And I’ve made friends here, no matter how frustrating they can sometimes be.”

“Tell me about it.” She laughed, voice soft so as not to disturb anyone else. “Word about town is you only intended to stay long enough to finish your novel and then you were in the wind.”

“Old rumors,” he said, waving a hand as if to physically shoo the words away. “Times and people change.”

She gave him a smile, one that played at the corners of her mouth as she looked back down at the novel in her lap. “If you need an editor…”

“You’ll be the first person I ask.” 

* * *

It was overwhelming, when Elliott sat back and looked at his novel. They’d calculated it all out -- while it was difficult to tell since it wasn’t written on a computer, they estimated he had a novel around 90,000 words in length. It needed quite a lot of work, and Katrionel was an enormous help. She was very good at finding punctuation errors, grammar mistakes, and misspellings that had completely slipped his notice. She was also a vehement defender of the Oxford comma and it’s continued use, he noted. At one point, she’d found a plot hole in Chapter 8, which would require patching at best and a partial rewrite at worst. She’d laughed at his overly dramatic groan when told the bad news and reminded him that he didn’t have to go it alone. 

And indeed, he didn’t. She was over every other day, the days she wasn’t exploring the mines and giving him heart attacks by showing up with bandages and ice packs. Logically he knew she needed the resources. Selfishly he wished she didn’t have to go both for her safety and his own peace of mind. He made the most of the time they did have together, though. Her laughter became a fixture in the cottage, as he read out the dialogue to see what needed fixing in his most stage-ready performer’s voice. She responded in kind, sometimes, and the two of them went back and forth, a verbal riposte he never wanted to end.

“Is that your version of foreplay?” Leah asked one day while he was over at her house for a rare visit. 

He nearly spit his coffee out at the question (no great loss -- it felt like filtering sand through his teeth). “Leah!” he sputtered, once he’d managed to clear his airway enough to speak. “That is  _ highly _ inappropriate, for shame!”

“It’s an honest question,” she said, not looking up from the statue she was working on. “And you didn’t say no.”

“No!” He stared at the back of her head, aghast. “Is that the rumor about town, then?”

“No.” He had a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before she added, with a glance over her shoulder that sparkled wickedly, “They’re all betting when you’re gonna get off your ass and confess. Or if she’s gonna beat you to the punch.”

He stared at her for far too long; she rolled her eyes. “Close your mouth before you catch flies.”

“Is there truly a betting pool?” he asked, slumping back in his seat. He’d essentially given up on the foolhardy notion of leaving her alone, but now he was wondering if that was the best course of action once more.

“Maybe. You can’t get in on it if you’re interested, since you’re an involved party, but there’s a couple other bets running.”

“Such as?” he asked, before he could think better of it.

“When Marnie and Lewis are gonna stop sneaking around and come clean to the town.”

He snorted into his coffee before he could stop himself. “Never.”

Talk turned away from gossip about his personal life after that, thankfully. Leah instead brought up the Festival of Ice, a festival he was quite looking forward to for the ice fishing contest alone. He hadn’t won the year previous, but it was fun and something different from sitting at a desk and writing all day. 

The Festival itself wasn’t for another two days and there had yet to be a major snowfall, but the morning of, Elliott woke up to a solid three or four inches of snow covering the beach sand. He ate reheated leftovers for a hasty breakfast, dressed as warmly as he could, and set out to make the trek to the woods near Leah’s house. 

Voices drew his attention first, as he followed the tamped-down path deeper into the woods. The river still rushed past to his left, but he thought he could make out chunks of ice when he looked hard enough. Likely just above freezing, then -- he made a mental note to avoid it at all costs. 

Of course, he was going to be ice fishing while standing on a layer of said ice of an unknown thickness. He let out a tiny sigh and moved on. 

The entire town had turned out for the festival, as per usual, and he paused at the edge of the clearing to take it all in. To the north, several figures carved enormous blocks of ice, one using a chainsaw that threw a thin layer of ice and snow everywhere, the other with a hammer and chisel. Directly ahead was the snowman contest field, where the young adults and children worked on packing the snow into snow… people. Some appeared more human-like than others. 

Beyond them, though, he could make out the temporary fish pond the ice fishing tournament would take place on. Tables set up nearby groaned under the weight of pots of hot cocoa and cider, filled styrofoam cups, plates of fresh-baked pastries shaped like snowmen. He made a beeline for the table with a relieved sigh, snagged a cup of hot cider and inhaled the heavenly scent of stewed apples, cinnamon, and cloves.

“Hello, Elliott,” Marnie said, smiling across the table from him. “Ready for the fishing contest?”

“As much as I can be,” he said wryly. A sip of the cider, and flavor burst on his tongue; he couldn’t help but close his eyes for a moment to enjoy the taste. “Will you be participating this year?”

“Oh, no, I’m terrible at fishing,” she protested. “I’m fine just watching. That, and keeping Jas out of trouble.” 

“Jas? Trouble?” A disgruntled grunt from beside him. Elliott glanced over to see Shane, Marnie’s nephew, take a long pull from a cup. “Got the wrong person.”

The two of them had rarely interacted, for all Elliott saw Shane every time he went to the Saloon for a meal and company. He made his customary polite greeting; Shane mumbled something back and took another gulp. 

Eventually he wandered away, just as a bright voice called out “hello!” and the townsfolk responded in kind. Elliott didn’t even have to look to know who it was. He saw her greet Robin, give Leah a hug while minding her tools. She wove through the snowman field, pausing beside Penny to look over the snowman with a critical stance. Slowly she drew closer. Elliott did his best to make it appear he wasn’t watching her, wishing she’d finally come say hello to him.

Across the table, Marnie sighed. “Ah, young love,” she said mournfully. “I remember those days.”

He instinctively glanced around, but no one was within ear-shot. “It’s not-” He tried to deny it, but Marnie raised an eyebrow at him and he let out a long, slow sigh. It wasn’t a huff. It was distinctly not a huff, because he wasn’t petty like that. “Does everyone somehow know?” he asked instead.

“If they don’t talk with you much,” Marnie said. “Though even then, I’m sure it’s been a topic of conversation in most households in Pelican Town.”

It was all he could do to refrain from groaning. He took a sip of cider to keep from answering while he gathered his thoughts. “Am I really that obvious?”

She paused, giving him a sharp look he was wholly unprepared for. Her gaze dug into his mind, pulled secrets from the deepest recesses -- or perhaps that was just how it felt. “I was in your shoes once,” she said finally. “And like speaks to like.”

Before he had time to process that statement, a flurry of ashen-blonde hair appeared in front of him, arms thrown around his waist but still mindful of his cider. “Hello!” Katrionel said with a laugh, drawing away again before he could hug her back. Her eyes sparkled against the icy-white backdrop of snow, teeth flashing equally white, but her nose was pink from the chill. “Hi Marnie! Did you make all this?”

“Gus did most of the work,” the woman said with a kind smile. “I helped a bit.”

“It all smells so wonderful.” Katrionel took a cup of hot cocoa and sipped it, eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, heavens. I need that recipe.”

“Sorry, trade secret!” Gus called jovially from a few yards away, tending to another table with ingredients to make yet more drinks. Elliott supposed that keeping an entire town warm with hot drinks required a lot of cooking. 

“I’ll figure it out one of these days!” Katrionel called back. She laughed as she nudged Elliott. “Having fun yet?”

“Of course,” he said mildly, sipping on his cider once more. Then his mouth had to open and add, “Though I daresay it’s more fun with your presence to brighten the festival.”

She laughed again, apparently missing the sharp look Marnie gave them both. “Always so sweet -- oh! Are those igloos?! I’ve never been inside one before, I’ll see you later!” Then she was gone in a whirl of navy blue coat and dark leggings.

Elliott sighed softly, offering his mug to Marnie for a refill. She took it and filled it, still watching him. “She won’t stay oblivious if you keep saying things like that,” she advised as she handed it back over.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said crisply, ignoring the way his ears heated up beneath his hat, and walked away again before he could say something to further incriminate himself.

He chose to linger around the ice-fishing holes, testing the ice thickness (three or four inches, plenty sturdy enough) and fishing rods (old ones, provided by Willy, but Elliott had used worse). The ice fishing contest was the first contest of the day, followed by judging the ice carving and snowman contests. By that point, with the short winter days, the sun would be going down and it would be past time to head home. He was just starting to wonder when things would start when Lewis cleared his throat and shouted in a voice to fill the forest, “Contestants for the ice-fishing contest and spectators alike, gather ‘round!”

He didn’t have to move far, as he was already there, but the rest of town began to crowd around the edge of the pond. The competitors appeared to be Willy (as expected), Pam, Elliott himself, and Katrionel. She drew her own rod and reel from her apparently bottomless backpack and left the pack with Penny, approaching Lewis to hear the rules.

They were relatively simple: you had ninety seconds to catch as many fish as you could -- a daunting task, but the pond was chock full of fish. No cheating by stealing fish, no fishing out of the river -- ice pond fish only. The contestants spread out to their own ice holes at Lewis’ word, waiting for his signal.

“Three,” he called, starting a chant among the townsfolk. “Two. One -- GO!”

Elliott cast his line immediately and got a bite just moments later. He reeled hard -- a small fish emerged from the depths. He dropped it into the bin beside him and cast again. This time he had to wait for precious seconds before another tug. This time it was algae; he wrinkled his nose and dropped it back in.

As he waited for another bite, he glanced around. Willy reeled in a fish with a practiced flick of the wrist. Pam was cursing a blue streak -- he guessed her fish had gotten away. Katrionel was calm and still as the pond itself, staring into the depths. He had to wrench his attention away before he could get distracted, just in time to reel in a second fish.

He just had time for two more fish before Lewis blew a whistle. Four fish. Not terrible, but certainly not enough to win. He relaxed, rolling his shoulders as Lewis went around and counted the fish.

They didn’t do placements for the contest; either you’d won or you hadn’t. He stuffed cold fingers in his pockets and absently wondered who would win, Willy or Katrionel. Pam appeared to have even fewer fish than he did. 

“And upon tallying the fish,” Mayor Lewis called, quieting the chattering townsfolk. “It appears we have our winner.”

Quiet. He crossed his fingers in his pocket, not even sure himself who he was hoping would win.

“Katrionel, with six fish!”

A look of shocked delight crossed her face, before she stepped forward to receive the prize -- fishing lures and a sailor’s cap, which Mayor Lewis carefully settled on her head over her knit wool cap. She laughed as she straightened, then turned to bow to the townsfolk and approach the other competitors. She shook hands with Willy, then tried with Pam, though the other was distinctly begrudging about it.

Finally, as people began to drift away from the contest towards the ice-carving exhibit, Katrionel approached him. “Congratulations,” he told her with a warm smile. “You deserved it.”

“Thanks.” She offered him a hand to shake. “No hard feelings?”

He took her hand, bowed shallowly over it, and met her eyes. “Of course not,” he murmured softly. “If I were to lose to anyone, it would be both my honor and pleasure to lose to you.”

He’d stunned her; it was the way her eyes went wide, her smile faded just a touch, to be replaced with another emotion he wasn’t sure of. Awe, perhaps, though that didn’t seem right. Before he could backpedal, she released his hand and stepped forwards, wrapping both arms around his middle. 

“Thank you for everything,” he could barely hear her whisper into his jacket, and he silently returned the hug, drawing her close and holding on for as long as he dared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so, so much for your kind words and kudos. It really does brighten my day to see so many people enjoying this story. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you again next Wednesday for another chapter.


	8. Winter, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An event, a rescue, and an illness.

Another week flew by before Elliott knew it -- one of the best weeks he’d had in his time in the valley, lit by bright purple-blue eyes that shone with happiness every time he opened the door to her. He wasn’t sure when they’d mutually agreed to move the editing sessions to his cottage instead of the library, but he wasn’t opposed to it by any means. It was warmer there, anyways, a cozier atmosphere and easier to focus. 

On the following Monday, a mine day for Katrionel, he resigned himself to the quieter kind of editing he was beginning to dislike, if only for how boring it was. The day dragged on and on, though he managed to correct another chapter’s worth of story and fix a minor plot point he’d forgotten about. Around 5 or so, though, there was a growing murmur of voices from the beach. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he pushed back from his desk, approached the window next to the door, and peered out.

The beach was lit up with spherical lanterns, while a variety of boats drifted just off the beach. Townspeople strolled along the docks, dressed warmly against the midwinter chill. He blinked once, then twice.

Just as he made to step back from the window, rather bemused, a fist pounded on his door. “Elliott!” Katrionel called merrily through the wood. “Come on, get dressed and come out!”

He pulled the door open, looking down a few inches to her beaming face. “What’s going on?”

“The Night Market!” She clapped gloved hands together. “Come on out, there’s free coffee!”

In the face of unrelenting cheerfulness, to say nothing of the affection he held for her, he resigned himself to braving the cold and bundled up as warmly as he could. No sooner had he tightened his scarf around his neck and opened the door than a hand fastened around his wrist and pulled him out into the evening air.

It was cold, certainly, and the breeze blowing in off the ocean didn’t help matters, but Katrionel didn’t seem to notice it as she tugged him towards the docks. “Free coffee, then we can figure out what to do,” she said decisively over one shoulder. “It runs ‘til 2, so I’m gonna need it.”

“Surely you aren’t planning on staying the whole time?” Elliott asked, mildly alarmed.

“Meh.” She shrugged, finally slowing down as their feet met wood. “We’ll see.” A teasing smile tossed over one shoulder, momentarily taking his breath away. “Depends on how good the company is!”

And there was plenty of company. It seemed half the town had turned out to visit. Elliott blinked a few times at the brilliant colors and lights around him as they approached the coffee merchant, seated on a rug at one end of the dock. “I don’t remember this from last year,” he said.

She laughed. “From what Leah’s told me, you didn’t get out much last year.”

He opened his mouth to retort it wasn’t true, but then thought better of it and closed it again with a sigh. She offered him a cup of coffee with an impish grin.

They wandered about, investigating all the various boat merchants had for sale. Katrionel was sorely tempted by a painting, but decided to refrain from purchasing after finding out the price. “Just because I’ve got more money than I ever had in the city doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be smart with it,” she confided as they walked away again. “Besides, that’s my seed money. Literally. For next year.”

“Are seeds that expensive?” Elliott asked, who had absolutely no clue if they were or not. 

“Very.” She sighed heavily, taking another sip of coffee. “I showed up with 500 gold to my name and spent every bit on seeds my first day in town. It was just my luck I had staples for dinner already, or I would’ve starved.” A grin. “As it was, I was eating a LOT of granola bars and oatmeal.”

“You wouldn’t have gone hungry,” he said. “The town would’ve taken care of you.”

A noncommittal noise. “True.”

Eventually they found themselves back on the sandy beach. Elliott glanced over at the second beach with the tide pools; then, before he could second guess himself, he nodded towards the plank connecting the two. “Care to go sit and chat for a while?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

He was prepared to stop at the side of the dock closest to the shore, but she kept walking further out. He followed, a little nervous as the wood creaked beneath one foot. “Are you sure this is steady?” 

“It hasn’t given out on me yet!”

“Despite what you may believe, that isn’t encouraging.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.” She sat down at the end of the dock, glancing over one shoulder and patting the wood beside her. “Sit with me?”

So he sat, gingerly, keeping his feet tucked up underneath him in a tailor’s seat -- highly undignified, but he doubted she would care. Her own feet dangled off the edge of the dock, toes of her boots nearly brushing the water’s surface. 

“How have the edits gone since I saw you yesterday?” she asked, and they were off. The conversation shifted from editing to publishing and the tentative query letters he’d begun sending out, then onto the few English classes she’d taken in college and college as a whole, on and on. He shifted eventually, matching her pose so their legs hung off the dock’s edge with a few inches of space between them. It was a relief to let thoughts of his work go and relax into the moment. 

The sun had long set and their coffee cups lay forgotten on the deck as the conversation fell into a lull. Perhaps it was the comfortable discussions they’d fallen into; maybe just plain curiosity. Whatever it was, it prompted Elliott to speak. “When you first read my first chapter.”

“Hm?” Her head was tilted far back on her neck, staring up at the star-studded sky. He could make out her peaceful expression thanks to the moonlight and distant light strings. 

“You made a comment. I haven’t asked, and you don’t have to answer, but…” He hesitated. There was no taking back that question once it was out in the open, but there was nothing to do but take the plunge. “What did you mean, when you said you ‘knew what that was like’ about being head-over-heels for someone?”

Her eyes had opened fully, but otherwise she hadn’t moved a muscle. The dead silence dragged on and on, unbroken except for the distant sounds of laughter and the water lapping at the dock and shore. He’d gone and done it, he thought. He’d pushed her too far, and she was never going to talk to him again.

“Why do you want to know?” she asked finally, head falling forward to stare straight ahead.

“Ah… curiosity, I suppose.” He hastened to add, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to-”

“No.”

Katrionel was silent for an unusually long time, but he didn’t push her. He’d come to realize she’d talk when she was ready, and not a moment earlier.

“I had…” Another long pause. “A real asshole of an ex, back in the city. He was perfectly nice, but he was pushy. In a lot of ways.”

“How so?” He matched his tone to hers; soft, contemplative.

“Take your pick. Timewise, in bed, every way possible.” 

She shivered beside him; he wasn’t sure it was because of the cold alone. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant more specifically. The insinuations were enough to make his blood boil.

“But when we first met, I was head over heels stupid for him and I thought he was the same.” She shook her head a little. “I was… really, really blind. Thought I loved him right away and we were going to be that sickeningly cute college couple that gets married in college or right out of it.” A little, disbelieving laugh. “He was starting to question me about jewelry preferences. Yoba, was I lucky.”

“You thought he was going to propose?”

“Oh, I’m nearly certain of it.” She stared out at the ocean as if searching for the point where the water met the sky; they were blended so perfectly he couldn’t make it out. “Ours would’ve been a picture-perfect marriage on the outside. But he would’ve been controlling and clingy and binding and I would’ve been clawing for just a glimpse of freedom.”

The thought of the bright, vivacious woman seated beside him being trapped in a cage made him shiver, head to toe. She giggled a little, leaning to one side to nudge his shoulder with hers. “My thoughts exactly.”

They sat in silence again for a long time, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Elliott was content to just sit beside her, listening to the ocean and far-off chatter.

“Are you happy here?” he asked abruptly, before he could talk himself out of asking.

“Yes.” No hesitation. “I’m truly happy here. So many memories attached to this little town, both good and bad, but the good overwhelmingly outweigh the bad.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m quite glad of that.”

“Me too.” 

A long pause. Then she shifted a little closer, inching over so their legs were pressed against each other’s. 

“Most of my good memories have you in them.”

He thought he’d imagined the whisper at first, so focused on the pressure of her leg against his. Even though it was the dead of night in the middle of winter, heat flooded his face. A shallow, steadying breath:

“And most of mine have you.”

She swung her legs a little, peering down at the water below them. Her hands rested palm-down on her knees. Elliott swallowed hard, then slowly, cautiously, turned his hand palm-up on his own knee to her.

Her legs swung to a stop. She fixed her attention on the offered hand. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she was going to take it.

Just as he lifted his chin, deciding not to look over at her until he was certain she’d made her choice, her hand rested feather-light in his. If he’d thought himself warm where her leg touched his, her hand was a living flame. Warmth radiated from her palm, spreading up his fingers as he folded them down to hold her hand in his.

There were no more words for a long, long time. They stared out at the water together, content to sit in the silence and the cold, hands locked together. He felt like he could jump the moon, but her hand and warmth was a tether to keep him at her side.

“I’m glad you came here,” he murmured, finally, as the Night Market appeared to be dying down. Lanterns flickered out; the townsfolk were leaving the dock in a slow, steady stream, heading back up the beach to town. “To Pelican Town.”  _ To me. _

Her hand squeezed his, just a little. “I am too.”

* * *

Three days passed, and if he’d been spending a lot of time with Katrionel before, the amount they spent together then was more than enough to set tongues wagging in town. Not only was she at his door every night for the Night Market, she was over during the day as well, helping polish his first chapters to send out to publishers and proof-reading his query letters with an eagle eye. He couldn’t say he minded it at all, frankly. Though they spent nearly every waking moment together, he missed her dearly the moment she left his sight and eagerly awaited her return.

Finally, though, after the Night Market closed for the final time that year, she informed him with a tiny, sad frown that she’d neglected her mining long enough. The next day she’d be gone, though the day after she should return. He put a smile on his face, encouraged her to go -- she needed the funds and the sprinkler system she’d been working on all winter.

The next day dawned cold and dreary; a thick layer of cloud cover cast shadows over the valley. Elliott yawned as he opened the door, reaching into the mailbox for the mail and quickly closing the door again. He shuffled closer to the fire as he flicked through the envelopes, searching for any letters from publishers -- rejections or otherwise. Spam, spam, rejection, spam-

A parchment envelope, addressed simply to “Elliott” with no address, caught his eye. Frowning, Elliott broke the seal and tugged the letter free.

“Dear Elliott,” he murmured out loud, skimming the paper. “Your Feast of the Winter Star secret friend is…”

He stopped at the name and stared for a few seconds. The universe had to be playing a joke on him. Otherwise, there was no way his secret friend had been randomly selected.

Katrionel’s name shone up at him from the paper in black ink. 

The rest of the mail landed on the table without a care. He kept looking at the letter, willing the name to change. Damn Lewis -- he had to know, had to have chosen this specifically for Elliott. 

He began pacing, letter crushed in his fist, turning idea after idea over in his mind. What to get for the woman who had everything? If he’d gotten the letter earlier, he might have been able to scrape together enough savings for the painting she’d admired at the Night Market -- but no, as he mentally tallied his remaining coin. He had nowhere near enough to afford it, barely had enough to pay the season’s rent. A problem for another time. 

Try as he might, he couldn’t recall anything she’d ever expressed a desire to own. She’d said she was content with a casual shrug at one point, when one of the townsfolk had asked her about something or other -- living in a small town, perhaps, without access to the big convenient stores of the city. He couldn’t recall. 

Anything at all. Something she might find useful, or even just pretty…

Elliott came to an abrupt halt in front of the fireplace. Her ears were pierced, weren’t they? He thought he remembered the marks at one point when she’d brushed hair out of her way. Yet she’d never worn a single pair of earrings in the entire time they’d known each other. Nor had she worn a necklace at any point he could recall -- even the Flower Dance. Did she not own any jewelry at all?

It would take too long for an order from the city to get to Pelican Town, even with the bus newly renovated and running -- not to mention it was expensive. It would have to be a custom job. Perhaps Clint could help…

He bundled up immediately and set out for the blacksmith, walking at a brisk pace. Clint listened patiently as he explained what he was looking for, but then began shaking his head. “All in, with materials and labor included, it’ll run you well over 500 gold,” he said.

Elliott’s shoulders slumped; he had nowhere near enough. 

“But if you could supply the materials yourself…” Clint paused, rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he thought. “I could knock the price down to 200 gold.”

That… was far more doable. It would require a great risk, of course, but the best things in life were worth risking life or limb for, in his opinion.

“The mines are your best bet,” Clint said, as if seeing the decision written on his face. “But they’re dangerous. You may want to ask someone else to go with you. Maybe the farm girl?”

He looked sharply at the other man, but there was no sign of mockery or mischief he could see. “I might just do that,” he said. “Do you have a pickaxe you could lend me?”

He wouldn’t go for too long, Elliott told himself as he set out to the mines in the north. Just a quick trip, in and out. It wouldn’t be too hard.

* * *

It was absolutely, positively too hard. 

Elliott scrambled away from the approaching skeleton on hands and feet, trying to retreat back towards the ladder up. His borrowed pickaxe was halfway across the room and he spared it a desperate glance, but the skeleton was raising a bone in the air (a bone? Was it one of his or one of his friends’- now was NOT the time)-

“Elliott!”

The shout filled the air and reverberated off the icy stone walls. He’d never heard a more beautiful voice say his name. 

A flurry of dark blue and shining silver filled his vision for a moment; there was a clatter of bone against the icy flagstones. Katrionel swirled to look down at him, eyes wide and startled. She wore a dark blue parka with white fur against the chill of the iced-over mines. Her hair was braided up and back in a style reminiscent of shield maidens of old, presumably to keep it out of her face. Today, with the ice blue of the walls and floor around them, her eyes were slightly more purple.

She offered her free hand to him, the other still clenched tight on the hilt of a sword. “Are you all right? What in the world are you doing down here?” she asked, as he took it and was pulled to his feet (somehow he kept forgetting just how strong she was). 

“I was looking for a gift for my Feast of the Winter Star recipient,” he admitted – that much was safe to say, wasn’t it? “But I fear I may have gotten in a little over my head.”

“No kidding.” Katrionel squeezed his hand, which until that moment he hadn’t realized she was still holding, and let go. She spun the sword in her other hand in a figure-eight motion that looked almost like second nature. It was incredibly attractive. “Have you found what you came for?”

Elliott checked his coat pocket, careful not to let her see what was inside. It was all there, safe and sound, though there was no gold on these floors as he’d soon discovered. “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” She gestured for him to follow her as they clambered up the ladder, further and further towards the surface.

Even with their odd relationship -- he wasn’t sure what to call it, though he supposed it didn’t necessarily need a label -- the elevator ride back up was a little awkward. Silence sat heavy in the air around them. Elliott looked up at the ceiling; Katrionel dug through her pack as the numbers ticked down. Finally, it came to a halt at ground level and the doors opened to admit them.

Katrionel sighed, stretching both arms over her head as she stepped into the small cavern. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she told him, with a glance and smile over her shoulder. “If you ever need to go caving again, though, let me know. I’d be willing to go with you.”

“Truth be told, I doubt I’ll ever have another reason to go back down there,” he said with a wry smile. “Thank you very much for the rescue, Miss Katrionel.”

“Back to Miss, am I?” Her eyes danced with laughter.

“A show of respect, for the woman who saved my life.”

Elliott held out his hand palm-up to her; she took it without hesitation. He bowed over it and pressed a kiss to the back of it, as he had on the very first day they’d met. He looked up, still half-bowed so they were at eye level with each other.

Katrionel’s eyes were wide, the beautiful blue-purple he’d sought so dangerously to match almost glowing in the low light of the mine entrance. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her lips parted in surprise. For a moment, silence filled the air around them. Elliott didn’t straighten. Katrionel didn’t pull away. “I…” she breathed. “It… it was nothing, really.”

Her words broke the spell. Elliott straightened all the way, clearing his throat. “Well,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from the rest of your day. Thank you again, Katrionel.”

“Of course,” she said, and backed up a step, eyes still on his. “Same time tomorrow at your place?”

He confirmed it and waited until he was absolutely sure she’d gone to press a hand to his heart, still pounding as if to leap from his chest -- for fear or love, he wasn’t sure. The other produced his treasure from his pocket.

Even in the dull light of the cavern, the amethyst shone an unusual blue-purple, just like he’d hoped.

* * *

His visit to the frozen mines was not without consequence, unfortunately; he had a sniffle by the time he finally made it home to his cottage after dropping by the blacksmith’s, and it had developed into a full-blown cold the following morning.

Elliott laid in bed, generally feeling sorry for himself for an hour or two, before trying to force his aching muscles to move so he could stand. There was a knock on the door just as he got to his feet, grumbling to himself as his muscles protested the movements.

“Come in,” he called, and privately winced at the congestion in his voice.

The door cracked open; the last person he wanted to see in his current state poked her head inside. “Elliott?” Katrionel asked, frowning in concern. “Goodness, you sound terrible.”

“I believe my adventures yesterday have resulted in a rather-” He had to cut off to cough. “-bad cold.”

“I can hear that. May I come in?”

“I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Nonsense. I’m healthy as a horse. Don’t worry about me.” Katrionel pushed open the door, closing it behind her quickly. “Goodness – the snow is really starting to come down out there.”

Elliott sniffled, blinking at her. “There’s no need to stay, really.”

She leveled a deadpan stare back. “That’s enough. Do you have any tea?”

Before he could protest again, she was in his tiny kitchenette, putting the kettle on to boil and a cup of loose-leaf herbal tea on the counter beside it. As that heated, she stoked the fire with wood from her pack. He stood in place, a little stunned and brain churning slow besides; she guided him to his favorite plush chair in front of the fireplace.

“I brought soup for lunch, a new recipe I got,” she told him as she returned to the kitchenette. “Seems rather fortuitous now, doesn’t it? Nothing better for a cold.”

He meant to respond, but must’ve drifted off for a moment instead, because a gentle hand on his shoulder startled him. “Eat this,” Katrionel encouraged softly, with a small smile at the corner of her lips as she offered him a tray he didn’t even know he owned. There was a bowl of soup steaming away in the center, plus a fresh cup of hot tea. She stepped away once the tray was settled in his lap and drew up the second chair from his desk. 

It was Tom Kha Soup, his favorite variety, and he sighed. “How did you know I love this?” he asked, taking another spoonful.

When he glanced at her, though, her eyes were slightly surprised. “I had no idea,” she told him, and he didn’t sense any lies in her words. “I’m glad, though – your favorite food makes being sick a little more bearable, I’ve found.”

“Indeed it does.” Elliott sniffled a little; the steam from the soup was clearing his sinuses, making it easier to breathe at the same time he felt like a fountain was running in his nose. A handkerchief appeared in his line of sight; he took it with a nod of thanks and blew.

Before he knew it, his spoon scraped the bottom of his empty bowl. “All done?” Katrionel asked, reaching to take the tray from him.

“There’s no need to do all this,” Elliott told her again. “I would be fine without your help.”

“But what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help?”

He caught a glimpse of a smile from the corner of his eye, just as he yawned. “I think I may need to go back to sleep,” he admitted. “I was going to edit, but…”

“Seems that won’t work out, will it?” Katrionel asked. “Go on then. I’ll head out once you’re asleep, just in case you need something.”

He shuffled back to bed, curling up under the covers, but it was  _ hot _ and impossible to sleep. He tossed and turned as he lay there, listening to the sounds of Katrionel washing his cup and bowl. For a while, he managed to drift, but it was restless, tossing blankets off and on.

As he rolled over for the umpteenth time, a hand rested against the back of his forehead. A soft voice hummed a note or two. The hand was cold, and he sighed at the relief.

The hand retreated, and he nearly whined at the loss of comfort, but then someone lifted his head and rested it on a soft surface – not his pillow. The hand returned, one resting on his forehead, the other combing through his hair. He was sure it was disgusting – greasy and matted with sweat, but still Katrionel stroked her hand through his hair.

With her presence, he managed to finally fall back asleep. When he woke, though, she was gone, and the cabin felt lonelier for her absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have unfortunately messed something up in my wrist and am putting myself in a wrist brace temporarily. Hopefully I'll have the next and potentially final chapter up on time, but please be patient if it's not done/ready by then.
> 
> I don't like canon Clint. Canon Clint is difficult at best and downright creepy at worst. Therefore Clint is undergoing an attitude adjustment in this story.
> 
> Thank you for your kind words and kudos, and I hope you enjoyed!


	9. Winter, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News and a feast.

He was laid up sick for the next three days, recovering more slowly than he would’ve preferred. There was nothing really to be done, though. Harvey swung by at Katrionel’s request, diagnosing him with a cold (which he could’ve told the good doctor himself, but refrained from saying so) and prescribing a few days’ worth of medication. 

The next morning he woke up early, finally able to properly breathe for the first time since falling ill. The mail once again contained little to interest him -- more rejection letters, mostly, and a reminder from Lewis that his rent would be due in just a short time. He winced at the reminder that he was nearly out of money, but forced himself to put the letter aside.

There were two notes left at the bottom of the pile: a note from Clint informing him the commissioned jewelry set was ready for pickup, and one last letter from a publisher. He opened it, rubbing his face with one hand as a yawn split his face, then froze in place.

“Mr. Elliott Whitlock, we were intrigued by the first five chapters of your original novel and kindly request…”

They wanted to read his full novel. It wasn’t an acceptance, not by a long shot, not yet. But it was a step forward, one he hadn’t expected until the new year arrived. 

He hurried to dress and pull on his winter coat, made sure the letter was tucked in an inside pocket, and rushed out the door north towards Clint’s shop. Few people were outside on the chilly day, though the sun shone and little wind plagued the small town; he briefly waved to those he passed, but he wasn’t in the mood to stop and chat with anyone.

A bell over the door jingled as he stepped into the blacksmithy, tugging his scarf away from his neck as the oppressive heat of the forge blanketed him. It was stifling in the smithy, but he didn’t intend to be there for long. Clint emerged from the back room, recognition coloring his face after a moment.

“Lemme grab that for you,” he said, disappearing back behind the forge once more. Elliott didn’t have to wait long, staring about the smithy and noting decades of smoke buildup in the ceiling overhead. Moments later, Clint was back and placing a cloth bag on the counter.

He withdrew the set from within, and Elliott’s breath caught in his throat. It was the work of a true craftsman, in his amateur eyes; the earrings were simple studs, but the necklace was a work of art. Iron leaves and vines captured a beautiful amethyst teardrop in their grasp, which had no proper back so light could shine through it. He held it up to the light, speechless; purple rays flared out and danced over the walls.

“It’s incredible,” he breathed, once he could speak again. “She’ll love it.” He hoped. “How much do I owe you?”

“150 gold.”

Elliott shot him a sharp look. Clint shrugged. “There was leftover amethyst I can use and sell separate, not to mention you brought in way too much iron. You brought down the price with the extra materials.”

It was a boon he wasn’t going to reject. Elliott produced the necessary gold and paid. Jewelry set safely tucked into the opposite jacket pocket from the letter, he set out for Sherman Farm. 

Long before he arrived at the gates to the farm, the sounds of clanging metal met his ears -- an unusual sound, to be sure. Elliott quickened his pace, forcing his way through the snow. The path between town and her farm hadn’t been cleared. The going was tough, but he finally made it to the gate and paused to catch his breath. 

Something began to bark, loud and sharp; Elliott lifted his head to watch Winnie wiggle her whole body on the front porch, then launch herself off and land in a snowbank so deep she briefly vanished from view.

He laughed hard, unable to help himself. A second voice joined his own, equally full of merriment. “Easy, wigglebutt,” Katrionel called as Winnie freed herself from the snowbank, shaking herself head to stubby tail. “Hey, Elliott!”

“Hello!” he called back, pushing the gate open and stepping inside. Winnie greeted him with a wide doggy grin and paws on his pant legs; he leaned down to scratch behind her ears. “How goes your day?” 

“Slow.” A long, weary sigh. Elliott turned to face her as he scooped up Winnie (she loved to be held, as he’d discovered on a few visits).

Katrionel stood at a makeshift forge, furnace blazing beside her and hammer leaning against what looked like an anvil. A length of pipe stuck out of the fire; she wiped her forehead with one forearm, turning it slowly with the other leather-gloved hand. She was dressed in a long sleeve shirt and jeans, hair tied up in a messy knot at the back of her head, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt head to toe. “What brings you here?” She frowned, looked up at him. “I didn’t get the days mixed up, did I?”

“Oh- no, no, not at all,” Elliott hastened to reassure her. He turned his face away from Winnie as she tried to lick his face, took a few steps closer. “I just had some news I wanted to share, that’s all.”

“Oh? News of what kind?” Katrionel glanced up at him as she tugged the pipe free, inspected the glowing red metal, then shoved it back into the furnace. 

“Well.” Elliott crouched and put Winnie down, then reached into his inside pocket to retrieve the letter. That was the pouch; he grimaced and switched sides. “Ahem. ‘Mr. Elliott Whitlock, we were intrigued by the first five chapters of your original novel and kindly request you forward the novel in its entirety for further review…’”

He was cut off by a shriek of glee. “Elliott, that’s great!” she said, beaming ear to ear. One hand still turned the pipe in the furnace, but she was near bouncing up and down in place. “That’s a huge step forward!”

“It is,” he admitted. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure it would ever come -- at least, not for quite some time.” 

“I knew you would,” she said, and gave him such a bright, beaming smile that he was struck momentarily speechless. “I’ve got to get this shaped, but we can celebrate some, if you’ve got time? I’ve got a bottle of wine I swear is calling your name.”

“Isn’t noon a bit too early to begin drinking?” he wondered aloud.

“All depends on the alcohol. A glass of wine? I’d say that’s no big deal.” She turned back to the furnace, drawing the now glowing-yellow metal from the fire and laying it on the anvil. “Step back-” as she flicked a welding visor down over her face. 

Elliott quickly chose to retreat inside -- something Winnie clearly agreed with, as she raced inside the moment he opened the door. The pounding of metal against metal subsided somewhat as he closed the door once more. 

“Your owner is quite the busy bird,” he commented to Winnie as he removed his coat, hanging it on the rack by the front door. “And has many, many talents.” He hadn’t even known she knew how to work metal. 

Winnie plopped her behind on the rug directly in front of him (not that it was too far to the floor for her), staring up at him with a wide corgi smile. “Are you enjoying life on the farm?” he asked, before his mind caught up to him that he was talking to a dog. “Nevermind.” 

She barked at him once and turned, running through the doorway that led to Katrionel’s bedroom. When she didn’t reemerge, even as Elliott tugged off his snow-covered boots and placed them by the door, he sighed and followed after her, pausing in the doorway. 

He’d never seen Katrionel’s bedroom, he realized; it wasn’t a terribly large room, an enormous queen-sized bed taking up the majority of the space. One bedside table on the near side of the bed held a jar of what appeared to be dog treats. Winnie sat at the foot of it, looking up at the jar, then at Elliott, then back at the jar.

“Do you want a treat?” he asked, and she danced in place as much as a dog could, wiggling her entire body head to foot. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He felt a little strange stepping into her bedroom, but it was only a few short steps to the bedside table. He unscrewed the lid and fished out a bone for the corgi, quickly replacing it before he could forget. “Do you know tricks? Sit?” he asked, and Winnie promptly sat, staring at the treat in his hand with a single-minded intensity. “Good girl.”

She grabbed the treat as soon as it was offered and raced across the room to bound into a small bed in one corner he hadn’t previously noticed, tucked between the wall and the dresser. As she happily crunched away on the treat, he took the opportunity to look around the bedroom a little more.

The quilt on the bed caught his attention first; it appeared handmade, a labor of love by someone in shades of pale gray-blue and coral. It was also well-loved -- he could see patched holes in places. There were a few decorative pillows at the head of the bed in matching colors. The furniture itself was a pale birch wood, a theme that permeated the entire room. The walls were light blue, painted instead of wallpapered, which seemed to be the norm in Pelican Town for some reason. Gauzy, floaty curtains covered the few windows, flanked by heavier black-out curtains drawn aside to allow sunlight in. Katrionel kept her room clean, he thought, recalling his own bed still unmade at home. 

Footsteps on the front porch; Elliott started and ducked out of the room hastily just as the doorknob rattled. Winnie raced past him, half of the bone he’d given her still hanging out of her mouth.

“Look at you!” Katrionel exclaimed, tugging off the heavy boots she wore and placing them beside Elliott’s. “Did someone give you a treat? Is he your new favorite person?”

“I rather doubt that,” Elliott said dryly. “She’s quite attached to you.”

She scooped the dog up again, peppering her face with kisses. “And I’m quite fond of her, yes I am,” she crooned. “You’ve been such a good girl today, even with the loud noises today!”

Winnie rested her head on Katrionel’s shoulder and appeared to be perfectly content to fall asleep there. He watched her heart melt in her chest just through the expression on her face. “Yes, my good girl,” she murmured, walking towards the kitchen with Winnie still held tight in her arms. “I know, I know, it’s so exhausting being so good.”

She deposited the corgi in yet another bed placed beside the kitchen cabinets, where Winnie rested her head on the edge of the bed to watch her intently. “I was planning on reheating leftovers,” she called over one shoulder. “Clam chowder all right by you?”

“That sounds perfect. How can I help?”

“You can sit and tell me what the next steps are. So do you need to finish edits and send it in?” 

They fell into easy conversation once more, Elliott outlining what he wanted to do next to prepare his novel for review by an official publishing company. Katrionel had insights he hadn’t thought of yet, and with her help, he’d soon ironed out a timeline to send the drafted novel off at the start of the new year.

Which was coming up soon, as he thought about it. The Feast of the Winter Star was days away, and it was shortly afterwards that the new year began. As a lull in the conversation developed, Katrionel bringing bowls of steaming clam chowder to the table, he turned towards that instead. “So, what are your hopes and dreams for the new year?”

She paused, spoon poised above her bowl. “Continue to expand the farm,” she said after a thoughtful moment. “I’d like to expand the coop, and maybe get a full barn in by summer. Pierre hinted he might be able to get some new seed types in for me. Maybe renovate the old greenhouse.”

“You have a greenhouse?” He wasn’t aware there was one on the property.

She grimaced. “It’s… a labor of love. Grandpa didn’t use it for much after Grandma passed, so it’s in a state of absolute disrepair.”

“Ah.” 

“Maybe…” She toyed with her spoon a little more, gaze growing distant. “I want to improve the town too, in any way I can. The bus is still broken down, and I don’t know much about mechanics, but maybe I can find someone who does. I want to keep donating to the library; there’s a chance if I fill out what’s been lost that the town could get some tourism, maybe boost the local economy somewhat.”

He couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t said a single word about herself. “And you?” he prompted. “What do you want for yourself?”

Katrionel’s brilliant blue-purple eyes met his, one ashen eyebrow creeping up her forehead. “Any reason you ask?” she asked, a teasing glint in her eyes. 

“Curiosity.” The fallback answer.

Another long pause. She took another bite of her chowder. “I want…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m not sure what I want.”

“It doesn’t require an answer,” he told her with a shrug. “It’s all right if you don’t know.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said. Then: “What about you? What do you want for yourself this coming year?”

It wasn’t hard to come up with an answer. “I want to publish my novel. I want to keep writing, finish another book. Beyond that…” He took a deep breath. “I want to stay here. In the valley, I mean. Now, whether or not I’ll be able to keep my cottage before the first royalty check comes in…”

She laughed at that, shaking her head a little. “I’m sure Mayor Lewis would understand if you were a little late on your payments. If worst comes to worst, I could… lend you some money?”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“Don’t think of it as charity. Think of it as a loan to be paid back at a later date.” She grinned across the table at him. “Besides, we don’t even know if it’ll come to that. You’ve got a request for the full novel! That’s amazing!”

“It is,” he agreed, and when she raised her wine-filled coffee mug to him, he toasted her in return.

* * *

It felt as if he simply blinked and the Feast of the Winter Star had arrived. He woke up early with the sun, yawning wide as early rays of sunlight spilled across the floor. For a moment he lay there, blinking blearily as his brain slowly woke up.

Then he remembered the day in question and his heart abruptly did its level best to sink into the soles of his feet. He gave Katrionel her gift today, and there was no telling how she would react. He scrambled out of bed, hissing as warm feet touched cold floors, and hustled to stoke the fire. When the flames crackled merrily over dry wood, he went to make himself a cup of tea and heat up some breakfast.

He dawdled about his cabin until he could dawdle no more, until the sun was high in the sky and it was almost past time to make his way north into town. The promise of good food and better company drew him out of his cottage and over the bridge north into town, cloth bag securely tucked into his inner coat pocket.

He heard the crowd before he saw it; voices laughing, chattering, shrieks of glee and shouts to this person or that. Leah was arriving from the woods and waved cheerfully as they saw each other at opposite ends of the stone road. “Look at what got dragged up from the beach!” she called, grinning wide as they met in front of the path to the plaza. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while!”

“It has,” he agreed with a slight pang in his chest. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit recently, I-”

“-got sick, the whole town knows,” Leah said with a shrug. “Harvey reassured us it was just a cold, but there were a lot of people pretty worried for a while, especially when you didn’t turn up for your monthly dinner at the Saloon.”

That had been while he was sick, he’d forgotten. “They were worried? For me?”

“Of course we were.” Leah nudged him with her bony elbow as per usual. “You’re one of Pelican Town’s own. I’m a little surprised you didn’t get showered in food and attention.”

“Katrionel came by a few times,” he said, and immediately realized his mistake as her gaze sharpened on him. A Cheshire grin tugged the corners of her lips up.

“Oh, I see,” she nearly purred. “The lovely lady farmer, worried sick for the flowery poet…”

“I’m not a poet,” he pointed out. “I’m an author.”

“Fine, author then. Unafraid of falling ill herself, but unable to stay away from-” She swooned against his side, pressing the back of one hand to her forehead in a theatrical gesture.

“Yes, yes, stand up now,” he said with a sigh, hauling her back to her own two feet. If she was bad now, he couldn’t imagine how terrible she would be after she figured out he’d gotten Katrionel for his secret friend. 

They tramped north into town over the stone slabs, luckily (for Elliott) moving on to other topics. Leah had plans for an art show in town once the weather warmed up, apparently, and he congratulated her on a big step forward for her art career. He brought her up to speed about his novel, which he was midway through editing to send off to the publishing company. How far they’d come, he pondered, since their conversation on their way to the Flower Dance so long ago. 

Then they stepped into the plaza and Elliott let out a soft sigh of wonder. They’d decorated for the holiday, stringing lights between the streetlights, dotting enormous candy canes in the snow, giving each table a special centerpiece. It was beautiful, but all paled in comparison to the magnificent tree in the center of the plaza. 

Swaths of ribbon and strings of fairy lights draped over the evergreen boughs, heavy with ornaments of all shapes and sizes. He could make out a child’s handmade ornament, made from popsicle sticks and coated in glitter; there was a carefully crafted miniature log cabin, a series of three stars shaped from metal, glass balls painted to look like a snowy forest. At the top of the tree, of course, was the golden star to represent the Winter Star. 

His gaze fell to the bottom of the tree, which was stuffed with wrapped presents. There was a bolt of panic, before he relaxed again; he didn’t need to wrap the secret friend gift. That was handed over individually, at the gifter’s own discretion. 

“Who do you think got you as a secret friend?” Leah asked as they approached their usual table -- seats weren’t assigned, but people tended to cluster together. As he’d only really known Leah at last year’s Feast, he’d chosen to sit by her; he saw no reason to change that this year.

“Haven’t the foggiest,” he said briskly, brushing some loose snow off his shoulder. “Yourself?”

“Well, a little bird told me Demetrius was asking Gus what I get regularly at the saloon…”

“And by little bird, you mean Emily.”

“You’re good at detective work.” She winked at him. “Maybe next time you should write a mystery novel!”

“I’ll... consider it.” It wasn’t a bad idea, all things considered; he just wasn’t sure how to go about writing such a thing. Perhaps Katrionel had some ideas… “So, who did you get as your secret friend?”

Too late he realized his mistake. Mischief danced in Leah’s eyes. “I’ll tell you if you tell me yours.”

“I’m afraid that would rather break the trust there,” he said, doing his best to remain dignified. 

“But you still want to know mine?” One eyebrow slowly crept higher up her forehead.

“I was searching for a conversation starter and… well.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “That seemed to be closest at hand.”

“So you were willing to talk about mine, but as soon as I return the favor you clam up? Seems suspicious to me…”

“Think whatever you like,” he said, fighting to keep calm and not heat up his entire face with embarrassment. “I simply asked-”

Arms wrapped around his neck and squeezed momentarily, not with intent to harm as far as he could tell. He stiffened regardless, until someone laughed nearly in his ear. “Hi!”

“Kat!” Leah greeted with a grin, and Elliott’s shoulders relaxed as Kat let go of him and stepped around, tugging out the seat beside him and sitting with a weary sigh. “Looking better than ever. How’ve you been?”

They fell into easy conversation; Elliott contributed little, preoccupied with the ease of her greeting and the cloud of flowery scent that enveloped him. It smelled familiar, light and delicate, sweet like something sugary. Floral, of that he was certain, and familiar, but how he wasn’t sure. 

“-and you?”

He jolted at being directly addressed and looked over at the speaker -- Katrionel. “Sorry,” he said, giving his best charming smile. “I’m afraid I was a bit preoccupied. What was the question?”

“Our secret friends.” Katrionel grinned. “I got Jas this year, so she’s getting a new doll from the city. What about you? Who’d you get?”

Oh, Yoba. “I’m afraid that’s information I can’t impart until I’ve delivered their gift to them,” he said, carefully edging around it as best he could. “After, though -- I promise I’ll tell you after.”

She eyed him for a moment that seemed to stretch on into infinity. “Pinky promise?” she asked after a moment, offering said digit to him. 

He took it without hesitation, even though it felt somewhat childish. “Of course.” An easy promise to keep.

Then there was a gentle tap on his shoulder, and Elliott twisted in place to see who it was. Willy smiled at him, or at least indicated he was smiling by deep crow’s-feet at the corner of his eyes. His bushy beard entirely hid the lower half of his face from view. “Happy Feast, Elliott,” he said gruffly, and held out a package wrapped in newspaper. “I was your secret friend this year.”

It turned out to be fishing tackle, a very shiny bobber that promised to capture the attention of any fish that laid eyes on it. “Gives ye a reason to come fishin’ with me again,” Willy said in response to his thanks, prompting laughter. Elliott promised, and then Gus announced the food was ready and the Feast rather dissolved into chaos for him from there.

The food was excellent, even better than he’d expected; he rather chalked that up to Gus boasting about “local, farm-fresh produce”, clearly implying he’d bought the food from Katrionel. She flushed red whenever anyone thanked or congratulated her, though, so he refrained from doing so. Instead he ate and drank and celebrated, conversing with townsfolk he rarely saw, let alone spoke to over the normal course of the year. It was a merry time, one Elliott hadn’t realized he was in dire need of. 

As he sat at his seat, alone for the first time all day and content to simply sip the excellent winterberry wine Gus had provided for the celebration, movement beside him made him turn. “Hello.”

Katrionel sighed as she sat down beside him, stretching her arms out over her head for a long moment, then slouching over the table. “Hi,” she said in return. “Enjoying the evening?”

He looked up at the sky, startled; sure enough, the sun had begun to set in the far distance. “Yes -- I hadn’t realized it’d grown so late,” he admitted with a laugh.

“Just don’t drink too much like last time.” Her eyes danced with humor as he raised an eyebrow at her. 

“I’ll make sure not to.” He toasted her with his glass, then took a draught. “How has your evening been?”

“Wonderful!” But there was a frown lurking in the corners of his face he could make out. “I just… I haven’t gotten my Feast gift. I don’t want to be rude, but-”

“I’m an idiot,” Elliott muttered to himself, placing his glass back on the table with a solid thump. One hand dug into his coat pockets; the cloth bag soon met his hand. “I didn’t want to make a scene,” he told her quietly as he drew the pouch from his coat. “But… here. I was your secret friend this year.”

He offered the pouch, hoping his hand wasn’t trembling too terribly. 

Katrionel accepted the bag, staring wide-eyed at it. “This is fancy,” she murmured, with a half-laugh. “What is-”

Her breath caught in her throat as the earrings slid into her palm, followed by the necklace. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Yoba.” 

“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously. 

“Like it?!” She gave a startled laugh, already tugging the backs off the earrings to put them in her ears. “It’s -- wow! I love it!” 

Her smile faded a little bit as she held up the necklace to the light. “Oh, heavens,” she breathed. “It’s incredible.” 

The chain was just long enough she could tug it over her head and let it hang against the deep red of her sweater. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting the pendant up to eye-level again and spinning it between two fingers. “Thank you, Elliott.” 

“Of course.” Her smile was blinding; he could only smile back helplessly. 

A deep breath, while she played with the necklace. “I left all my jewelry behind in the city,” she confessed. “I didn’t think I’d need it, and besides… it all reminded me of times long past.” 

“Ah.” He knew what she meant immediately. 

After yet another moment of silence, a look of narrow-eyed recognition and realization spread across her face. “This is why you were in the mines, weren’t you?’

He spread his hands. “You caught me… quite literally, it seems.” 

A laugh that filled the air, turning heads, but attracting only genial smiles before people resumed their conversations. Elliott basked in the sound, smiling back warmly.

They fell into silence again, her playing with the pendant while he watched the purple rays dance over the tablecloth in front of him.

Then she let the pendant rest against her chest once more, and he turned his attention back to his glass with a self-satisfied smile. That vanished at a gentle pressure against his cheek. 

Katrionel sat back after a moment; he hardly dared to look at her, but finally forced himself to. Her cheeks were pink, and he wasn’t sure if it was just from the cold. His mind was still processing the fact she’d kissed him when she cleared her throat, looked down at her hands.

“Thank you,” she said again, and all he could do was nod, a little dumbstruck. 

If Leah noticed the grin that kept sneaking onto his face the rest of the night, she kindly didn’t comment on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me, I'm afraid, and as is wont to happen, I split it into two parts. The final chapter should go up next Wednesday as per usual.
> 
> My wrist is feeling far better, thank you for all the well-wishes! It's a little hard to believe we're almost to the end, but truth be told, I've got a few hazy ideas for one-shots set in their world. It may not be the end of their story just yet; we'll just have to see.
> 
> Please stay safe with coronavirus going around. My study abroad trip got cancelled in its entirety, and my university is considering going to all online classes for two weeks after spring break next week. Wash your hands, most masks don't work so leave them to health care providers/professionals that need them more, and cough/sneeze into your elbow. Fingers crossed that this all dies down in the next few months and doesn't get worse. 
> 
> Stay safe, and I hope you enjoyed.


	10. Winter, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of a year, and the start of something further.

He walked on air the entirety of the next day, floating through edits and whistling merrily as he cleaned his cabin top to bottom. Even the freezing winter winds couldn’t dull his cheer as he sat on the dock beside Willy, bobber bouncing on the waves. “Yer in a good mood,” the old fisherman observed. 

“It’s been a wonderful week,” he deflected, slowly reeling in some of the slack. “I’ve gotten fantastic news on the novel front -- a publishing company wants me to send the whole thing to them for further review.”

“Congrats.” Willy flicked his wrist; within a minute he’d reeled in a fish, adding it to the growing pile beside him. He’d caught close to ten; Elliott’s pair of fish appeared measly besides his. “I get the sneakin’ suspicion that ain’t everythin’.”

He warred with himself for a long few minutes, but Willy had been fishing longer than he’d been alive. Fishing required patience, and lots of it. He had a feeling the man could wait for hours for him to come out and say whatever was on his mind.

“It’s… been nice,” he finally said, recasting the line with a flick of his wrist. “Having someone else around the cottage.”

“Farmer Kat?” Willy chuckled. “She ain’t changed a bit since she was here as a kid. Still a beamin’ ball of sunshine.”

“You knew her?”

“I did. Not well.” Yet another fish; he waited for the other to finish rebaiting his hook. “Me ‘n ol’ Wilson used to be pretty friendly, back in the day. Lydia and Moira were thick as thieves, so she was over pretty often.”

He fell silent for a moment; Elliott allowed the silence to linger. Willy never talked about his wife; he could count on one hand the times he’d heard Willy even say her name. 

Willy finally cleared his throat, looked down at the water. “I was out on the water a lot, so I didn’t see much of her when she was in town. What I did see…” He smiled. “She was bright as anythin’, always runnin’ around town, gettin’ underfoot -- and no one minded much. Hard to be mad when a gap-toothed smile’s grinnin’ up at you.”

“Has she changed much? Since you last saw her?”

“Besides growin’ three feet taller?” Another chuckle. “She’s done some settlin’ down, there’s certain. Quieter ‘n I remember. That smile still lights up the room, though.” 

“That it does,” Elliott said absently, and immediately regretted it as Willy cackled.

“Still got some puppy love goin’ on?” 

He was getting a little tired of denying the truth to the town. Certainly it’d taken him a long time to even admit to himself that he liked Katrionel, but it was the truth. “And if I do?” he said instead.

“Nothin’ wrong with that.” Willy let out a long sigh Elliott almost mistook for a gust of wind. “First time I saw my Moira… my heart skipped a beat ‘r two. Prettiest thing I ever saw. Still was, right up until the day she died.”

“I’m sorry,” Elliott murmured. 

“‘S been fifteen years.” WIlly went silent again. “Fifteen years, six months, three weeks ‘n four days. If I remember rightly.” 

“That’s quite the memory.”

“When the love of yer life goes…” There was a heavy swallow from beside him. “Ye don’t forget it easy.” 

He let the silence sit for a long time, reeling in fish after fish. Finally Willy cleared his throat. “What I should say, is… don’t regret not makin’ a move. Spend every moment with her ye can.” He took a deep breath. “If I could have just one more day with Moira, I’d take it. Not a single question.” 

“You’re telling me to tell her?”

“I’m tellin’ you not to make a choice you regret. For the rest ‘a yer life.”

“I’ll remember it,” Elliott promised, and reeled in a handful of seaweed.

* * *

“Got any New Year’s Eve plans?”

Elliott didn’t register the question at first, preoccupied with finding just the right replacement word. Finally the right synonym came to mind and he scribbled it down, sitting back in his seat. Only then did he process it. “Hm?”

Katrionel repeated the question, glancing up from the second-to-last chapter. 

“No, not at this time. Why do you ask?”

“Gus said he’s planning to host a ‘shindig’ at the Saloon.” Her lips twitched at the word. “I was thinking about going.” 

“It would be a wonderful way to ring in the new year,” he agreed. “And it’s not as if I had anything planned for my evening.”

“Excellent! So you’ll come?”

He was starting to wonder if she knew she could make him do most anything with a smile and one look from those beautiful eyes. “I…” He took a moment to compose himself, allowed himself a weary sigh. “All right. It should be entertaining, in any event.”

“Thank you!” She beamed at him, flipping another page. “Almost done, aren’t we? It’s exciting, being so close to the end!” 

“Indeed.” He smiled, first at the page, then at her. “It’s a relief to be so close. Can you believe -- a year ago I didn’t even have the foggiest idea what I wanted to write, and now here I sit, a full novel nearly finished and a publishing company interested.”

“A year ago I was stuck in a dead-end office job,” Katrionel commiserated. “I’d say this is a huge improvement, wouldn’t you?”

“How so? The life or the company you keep?” 

“Both.” She winked at him and he felt his heart thud in his chest. He hoped it didn’t show, but judging by the slow-spreading grin on her face, she’d noticed. All she did was laugh and turn back to the chapter.

Night was falling by the time he looked up next. “Oh heavens, it’s grown late already,” he said, rising to his feet. “Will you be all right to walk home?”

“Just fine.” Katrionel stood up herself, yawning and stretching both arms high overhead. “Chapter’s done, by the way. Can I see the last one?” 

“Of course.” Elliott handed it over without hesitation, yawning himself. It was far later than he’d expected. “Shall we just meet at the Saloon tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. The party starts at 9 -- don’t be late.” She smiled, then hesitated for a moment. 

A moment later, both her arms wrapped around him and squeezed tight. He hugged back on instinct, nose in her hair. A inhale brought the same floral scent he recognized from the Feast of the Winter Star. It was near intoxicating, and he took a deep breath, letting it fill his head.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, half-muffled by her face in his shirt. He smiled a little, basking in the warmth of her body heat and the feel of her arms around him. 

“Of course.”

* * *

Truth be told, he’d been rather looking forward to spending New Year’s Eve sitting in his cottage, enjoying a good cup of tea and something sweet. Of course, Katrionel dragging the promise of going to the Saloon party out of him had involved him completely forgetting his previous plans, so that was out the window. He dusted off the cranberry red coat he’d lent Katrionel at Spirit’s Eve, realizing only as he was getting ready to go that he’d forgotten to ask the dress code. 

Well, he dressed unusually formal most of the time anyways; his everyday apparel would likely not be amiss at a small-town New Year’s party. On went the nicest silk shirt he owned, then the coat. On further reflection, he drew a green ascot from deep within his closet and tied it around his throat. Only then did he look in the mirror and decide yes -- he was sufficiently well-dressed.

He could hear the Saloon crowd from halfway into town. The low thumping music reached him first, then the chatter and laughter just a few steps later. He nearly turned right back around, pausing on the side of the bridge just town-side. 

But he’d made a promise, and he kept his promises. So, with a deep breath and a glance at the clear, star-studded night sky overhead, he forced himself the rest of the way into town.

The music changed just as he reached the doors into the Saloon, going from obnoxiously loud and thundering to quieter and more bearable. He let out a sigh of relief as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. 

The Saloon was packed with people, was his immediate impression -- everyone in town had turned out by his best guess. A half-desperate glance around told him that he’d chosen correctly in dressing up. People had trotted out their best outfits for the party; he saw everything from full suits and elegant gowns to casual jeans and a nice shirt. If anything, he was dressed on the nicer end of the spectrum, but the nicest was Gus -- in full coat and tails, almost like a Zuzu City waiter at a five-star restaurant. It was only the beaming grin on his face that set him apart from one of them.

“Look at you!”

Katrionel’s voice cut through the fray, catching his attention. He turned and-

Would there ever be a day she didn’t take his breath away, he wondered. 

She sparkled under the lowered lighting, wearing a dress he’d never seen before. Deep emerald green flowed down to mid-calf, a sweeping fabric that spun and moved fluidly with her. The sleeves were puffy and cuffed at the wrist, equally flowy and elegant. Glittering tiny gems sparkled, scattered at random over the fabric and catching the light as she swiftly wove through the crowd. The neckline was a relatively modest V that left room for the amethyst necklace he’d given her to shine against her skin. Her hair, normally straightened or loosely wavy, fell in curls around her shoulders. She looked absolutely stunning, and that was all he could think to say as she stopped in front of him.

“Thank you!” She beamed at him, that same wide grin he was so fond of. “You know, people will think we planned this-” -- reaching out to touch his matching ascot gently. 

“Perhaps not such a bad thing,” he said as he regained his tongue again. “I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

“You haven’t,” she reassured him. “I only got here ten minutes ago or so- oh, Abigail!”

Just like that she was sucked into the crowd, greeting everyone with a wide smile and laughter. He watched her go once more, a social butterfly he could never hope to be. 

Shockingly, it wasn’t long before she returned to his side, him seated at the bar and already nursing a glass of limited-edition winter cider Gus had been brewing all winter. “Is that any good?” she asked, hopping onto the seat beside him. 

“Try for yourself,” he said, nodding to Emily and Gus working behind the bar. He wasn’t expecting her to steal his glass from his hand and take a sip. “That’s… not what I meant.”

She laughed, nearly inhaling the cider and breaking into a coughing fit. He patted her back a few times, mildly alarmed, but she recovered quickly enough. “Easier than getting their attention,” she said, taking another sip. “Not bad at all!” 

They chatted quietly for a few moments before Gus managed to get her her own glass. Once it was in her hand, she turned to him, raised it high. “A toast.”

“To what?” he asked, preparing his own glass.

She hummed, thoughtful. “To the new year?”

He offered his glass to her. Just before they clinked, she added, “and whatever it may hold.” 

“Cheers.”

Both drank deeply. “That’s wonderful,” she said, lifting the glass to eye level and inspecting the liquid inside. “Oh -- I finished reading the last chapter today.”

“You did? How bad was it?” 

“Not bad. Just needs a few tweaks here and there.” She put her glass down on the counter, still looking at it, then gave him a sideways glance. “You, ah… I believe you included the dedication page with it, though.”

“I… did?” He tried to recall what he’d written in the dedication or, more specifically, who to. Then it clicked, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

“To my Muse, the light of my life,” he’d written. “Words cannot express the joy and unique vision you have brought me. You have made me a better writer, author, and man. I thank you for the inspiration for this novel, and pray you will be there for many more besides.”

It was essentially a confession of love, every word of it honest… but he’d intended to edit and alter until it was absolutely perfect. On the day he published his novel and held the first copy in his hands, he’d intended to give it to her, in his version of a grand gesture. Hopelessly romantic, perhaps, but he’d not given up on being one just yet. 

“I… see,” he managed. “Ah…”

“It was lovely,” she murmured, glancing over at him. Her blue-purple eyes, shadowed in the low light, appeared entirely serious. “Felt sweet and heartfelt.”

“It was,” he managed. “Is. It is.”

Another smile, more muted, but still honest and sweet. Her knee nudged his under the bar. “I liked it.”

“It wasn’t quite finished…”

“Oh?” One eyebrow quirked up at him as she sipped her cider. “How much more of your heart did you intend to pour onto the page?”

“Besides the whole novel?”

It escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Her eyes went wide in what he thought was silent shock, then recognition. Her gaze turned to her glass as her eyebrows furrowed and she sank deep into thought.

“I did say you wrote Lukkas as head-over-heels for Aliviya,” she murmured, contemplative. “... I… thought it was more recent, this… thing.”

‘Thing’ was certainly a term for whatever was going on between them, the delicate relationship without a name, Elliott thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. “It’s been longer than you know.”

A flash of those strange blue-purple eyes, unfathomable as the ocean depths for a change. She wore her heart on her sleeve, but in that moment, he could no more read her than he could read a book in Gotoran. “Oh.”

He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer, draining the rest of the cider and catching Gus’ eye, raising his glass just a bit. 

“Just how long?” she asked, as the silent bubble around them felt as if it was pressurizing with tension. 

“Truthfully?” he asked. Gus bustled over to take his glass and replace it with a full one; he took a healthy swig for courage. “Since the moment I first saw you.”

He’d startled her, judging by the sharp inhale. “That long?”

He gave her a weak smile, unable to meet her eyes. “Just so.”

She toyed with her glass, chewing on her lower lip. He glanced at the clock; it was approaching eleven already. “I, ah… perhaps I should go.”

“What?” Now she really looked surprised, frowning at him. “Why?”

“I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable.” Backing off, giving her time to process and make a decision as to how to proceed -- it felt like the right thing to do. 

“Did I say I was uncomfortable?” she asked, raising both eyebrows with an exceptionally unamused face. 

“Well… no.”

“Precisely.” She watched him as she took another sip of her cider. “It’s fine. And… it’s not as if it’s not mutual.”

All the breath left his lungs in a relieved whoosh. He couldn’t stop the smile that broke across his face any more than he could stop the sunrise. “Wonderful.” Perhaps a bit too relieved; he tried to tone it down. “That’s… that’s excellent.”

Silence surrounded them once more; he started to process the noise around them once again, no longer so focused on their own little bubble. Whoever had been in charge of the music just before he’d arrived had been replaced, it appeared, as the music hadn’t gotten so loud he couldn’t hear himself think since entering. The upbeat tune playing came to a close, and a slightly slower tune took over. 

There was a small dance floor in the Saloon, where Gus had moved tables aside and kept the floor cleared. Maru and Penny danced together, Maru more cautious than talented, but Penny was giggling as they narrowly avoided other dancers. Robin and Demetrius moved at a slower pace, speaking quietly to each other with peaceful smiles on their faces. He saw Jodi sitting by herself in a booth, a wistful smile on her face; then Sam appeared from nowhere, offering his hand to her with an over-the-top, galant bow. Her smile broadened as she took his hand and they moved into a somewhat-clumsy two-step, if he wasn’t mistaken. 

“Do you know how to dance?” he asked, turning back to Katrionel.

“It’s been years, but… yes, I used to know.” She smiled wryly. 

He put his nearly-empty glass down and stood, subtly checking his balance. “Then would you care to dance?” A half-bow, an offered hand. He didn’t have to wait long before she took it. 

The music wasn’t precisely waltz music, not in 3/4th time, but they made do, careful not to tread on toes -- each other’s or anyone else’s. Katrionel hadn’t lied; she was a fairly good dancer, easily keeping pace with him as he led. The current music was nice, but nothing either of them appeared to be enjoying. An awkward silence fell over them, and Elliott began to wonder if he’d made a mistake in not continuing their conversation at the bar.

The music faded out, and their pace slowed to a halt. Katrionel gave him a shy smile and opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by a singer.

“She said every time I close my eyes, I feel like I could disappear…”

He watched her face transform, mouth forming a startled ‘o’ as her eyes went wide. “I love this song!” she gasped, an ear to ear grin breaking across her face. Her voice quietly joined the singer on the next line as he led her into another square, testing the waters, finding the tempo to follow. “I could overflow the ocean with the cavalcade of all my tears…”

This time the dance was smoother, more natural. She stopped singing, but a blissful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she hummed along. He released the arm against her back and raised his other hand. She took the hint and smoothly spun beneath it, skirt flaring in a whirl of emerald green.

He recognized the song now, one she’d sung along to so long ago in her kitchen as they made dinner together after the Festival. How someone had known to play it, he wasn’t sure, but he had one suspect in mind whose name began with an “L”. Sure enough, a fast glance towards the bar caught Leah’s eye as she watched him. She raised her half-full glass of wine to him with a smug smile.

She was laughing softly as he stopped her spin, brought her back in again. An overcorrection nearly made him lose his grasp on her hand, but she tightened her grip and he drew her back to him. “Careful,” she murmured, but there was amusement dancing in her eyes as she looked up at him through her lashes. 

“I’ll do my best,” he responded smoothly, still guiding her in the familiar square pattern. “Is this your favorite song?”

“One of them.” They fell into soft conversation about music, even as the song played and he lost himself in the music and dance.

Then she paused mid-sentence and grinned. Before he could initiate the spin, she beat him to it, stepping free and spinning once. He took his cue from her and spun her around and around, keeping her going until her laughter filled the air and turned heads. He was grinning too, he realized. In her place, he would’ve gotten dizzy and stopped long ago, but she kept going, seemingly endless energy propelling her forward.

The music slowed as it drew to a close. Elliott stopped her spin. She staggered a pace, laughing still as she crashed into his chest. He wrapped one arm around her waist reflexively. Katrionel’s laughter slowed to a stop, taking deep breaths and shaking her head a little -- likely to clear it. He steadied her as she regained her balance and the music came to an end.

“Whew!” She drew away again, grinning. “Thank you. That was… it’s been a while since I danced like that, at least. Besides me in the kitchen with Winnie.”

“More or less fun?” he asked as he steered her off the floor, back towards the bar, but she stopped halfway there and shook her head.

“I need to get some air, just go outside for a few minutes. Come with me?”

“Of course.” He glanced at the clock on the wall as she ducked out the door ahead of him. It was already 11:45; nearly the new year. 

Then he ducked out into the cold, shivering as it hit him, but he was still warm enough from the drinking and dancing it didn’t bother him much for long. Katrionel stood in the snow, appearing not to notice the cold herself as she looked up at the clear, starry night sky.

“You never saw stars like this in the city,” she said as he came to a halt beside her. “Too much light pollution.”

“It’s one of my favorite things about living here,” Elliott agreed.

“It’s endless. Makes you feel so, so tiny.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, hanging onto the wide sleeves with fisted hands. Her gaze never wavered from the stars. “I felt tiny when I arrived here.” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. “Drained and helpless. I had no money, no real idea of what to do. A whole year ago tonight… I spent my last night in my shoebox city apartment, on a cot, because all my furniture had been sold to pay for the bus ticket. Too poor and spendthrift besides to go buy myself a single drink for the new year.”

“No savings?”

“How could I?” A humorless laugh. “I had 500 gold in savings, and that was a lot, compared to some of my coworkers. I got nothing for quitting. Every bit had to go towards the farm, I told myself. If I failed at this… I didn’t know what I’d do.” She took a deep breath. “This was my last chance.”

He let the silence linger, allowed her mind to race and think as much as it wanted to before daring to speak once more. “And now you’re here.”

A sidelong glance allowed him to see the corner of her mouth twitch up. “That I am. And successful, more than I ever thought possible.”

“This life suits you.”

“You think so?” He caught her gaze flicking to him. “I didn’t think so when I got here.”

“It does. And you fit here, like a piece in an unfinished puzzle.” 

“Poetic as always.” There was a smile just in her tone. “What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you feel like you belong here?”

He took a long moment to consider the question. “I think so,” he finally decided. “I haven’t made many friends, persay, but I know the whole town and they’ve accepted me, almost. It took longer than it did for you.”

“I’ve got roots here, you didn’t. Go on.”

He couldn’t help but smile a bit. “I feel in the last year, at least, the town has truly come to see me as one of their own.” 

“No regrets about staying?”

“None at all.”

She beamed at him, brighter than the moon overhead. He smiled back, helpless to do anything else. 

They stood still in the moonlight for a while longer, breath creating white clouds in the air around their heads. Katrionel tilted her head back after a minute, took a deep breath in, and let it out in a long “haaa”. Misted breath filled the air ahead of her, and she grinned in delight.

“I’m never going to get tired of pretending to be a dragon,” she confided. “Even when I am old and gray and my bones ache when there’s a storm blowing in…”

“I’m surprised that hasn’t begun already, with all those injuries you’ve sustained in the mines,” he quipped, before he could think the better of it.

Luckily it just made her laugh. “I’ve gotten better with it! I’ll be just fine. But, if it makes you feel any better, I won’t be going back to the mines for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Spring is starting -- they’re predicting a warm front is going to come through here in the next day or so.” She sighed. “I need to start planting tomorrow morning. That weatherman’s not been wrong yet.”

“You’ll be quite busy, then,” he said, trying not to let the sting of being unable to see her everyday show.

“Yeah. For a while, at least. Gotta make sure my sprinklers are up and running, I’ve got the right seeds in the ground for the maximum amount of harvests…” Her eyes gleamed as she added, “I’ve got some projects in mind.”

“That’s wonderful.” He smiled at her, hoping the sadness he felt didn’t show. “Just don’t forget about… all of us here in town, hm?”

“Of course not!” A scandalized look back at him. “You do know you’re always welcome on the farm, right?”

“Of course, but I wouldn’t want to be a distraction-”

“Elliott Whitlock.” 

Her voice turned unusually stern as she turned to look at him. He couldn’t help but give her his full attention in turn.

“You are my favorite distraction in Pelican Town,” Katrionel told him, voice going soft, just for the two of them. “My home is your home. Come over any day, any hour, for any reason.”

“For editing assistance?”

“Even if I’m knee-deep in weeding.”

“Or dinner conversation?”

“If you bring the lobster.” She was teasing him, he could tell, but her words were honest. “I’ll provide the wine.”

“Or even if… I’ve just missed seeing your eyes?”

An eyebrow quirked. “Just my eyes?”

He reigned in a smile and offered her a hand. She took it, lacing her fingers with his on instinct, looking up at him as he looked back at her.

“I will miss the mischief in them as you find a plot hole in my book again,” he murmured. “I will miss watching them dance as we read the lines out loud to each other. I will miss looking up from the dinner we cooked together to see them shining across from me as we eat. I will miss the love in them as you hold your dog and dance around the kitchen with her. I will miss them at your most stunning, and at your most exhausted, and everywhere in between. I will miss seeing them look back at me.” He squeezed her hand. “I will miss every inch of you and your presence, but I think I’d miss your eyes most of all, because in them… I see who you truly are.”

She was speechless; he’d stunned her. In the Saloon behind them, he could hear the music die, people begin to get louder and more excited. 

“Anyone ever tell you you should be an author?” she said eventually, a weak joke. “Because you have a way with words.”

“I have. It’s nearly come true, and it’s thanks to you.” 

“You’re the wordsmith.”

“And you are the muse.”

They could hear the countdown begin behind them; first just a few people, then more joining in. “Fifteen! Fourteen!”

“Perhaps that could be your next story,” Katrionel suggested softly, her gaze locked on his.

“What could be?”

“Nine! Eight!”

“The story of the wordsmith who fell in love with his muse.”

“Five! Four!”

She took a deep breath. “And the muse who loved him back.”

“One!”

There was an explosion of cheering behind them, but Elliott heard essentially none of it. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it gently. “It sounds like a captivating tale,” he managed to say. It was a fight to be heard over the shouting and raucous singing beginning inside the Saloon as they struck up a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne, but he managed it. “Shall we see where it goes? Together?”

She smiled at him, the kind of smile where she was trying to hold it in and not quite succeeding. Her free hand rose to cradle his cheek; he fought not to melt into her gentle touch, a losing battle. Then she leaned forwards, pressing a soft kiss to the other cheek. When she drew away again, her eyes shone brighter than any star in the sky. 

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. How a week can change everything.
> 
> I'm home with my parents for the next 3 weeks, at least for now. We'll see what happens if my university decides to go online for the rest of the semester. I'm sure you're sick of hearing it by now, but please, please be safe and careful. It's going to be ok, but taking precautions is never a bad idea. 
> 
> I toyed with the ending for a while; originally I'd plotted for them to kiss at midnight, but the more I wrote, the less right it felt. Close as they are, it felt odd for them to take that leap so fast after deciding to see where this went. I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, though. I sincerely hope you are too.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and your kind words and kudos and everything besides that. Quick friendly reminder: I also wrote New Americana, so if you want another story in Stardew Valley to read, check that out. I suppose I'll have plenty of time to write the epilogue for that while I'm in isolation with my family. 
> 
> If you have questions about the story, anything you wondered about but felt was left unanswered in the story, please don't hesitate to ask. I plan to work on replying to all unanswered comments here in the next few days. One fun fact: Winnie is my real-life corgi, and she just turned a year old on March 15th. She is even cuter in real life than in this story. 
> 
> Thank you again for everything, and I hope to see you wherever the stories take me next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for choosing to read this little labor of love of mine. Please note I typically update on Wednesdays and there is currently not a final chapter count I'm completely sure of. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave comments and kudos; I'm terrible at responding to them, but I see each and every one and it always brightens my day to see them. Thank you so, so much to those that have already left such kind words and love.


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